


Pride & Prejudice & Padawans

by VesperSpeaksInTongues



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, BAMF Ahsoka Tano, BAMF CT-7567 | Rex, BAMF Padmé Amidala, CT-7567 | Rex is So Done, Multi, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VesperSpeaksInTongues/pseuds/VesperSpeaksInTongues
Summary: What if all of our best loved dorks from the Clone Wars were actually living in a time and a place and a society not unlike the well mannered apocalypse of Pride & Prejudice & Zombies?What if Rex donned a long duster, his already perfected brooding scowl, and just dripped disdain like Mr. Darcy? What if Ahsoka Tano was the spirited daughter of a gentleman trying to come to terms with her place in the world? What if the sexual tension was thick enough to cut with a saber....while fighting a hellish war against the empire?*Inspired by the lovely works by CountessOfBiscuit
Relationships: CT-7567 | Rex/Ahsoka Tano, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 48
Kudos: 98





	1. Ahsoka's plight or Growing Pains

Pride & Prejudi & Padwans  
Ch 1

"My Goodness child! You drive me distracted!"  
Mother DiNabierri flung her hands up in exasperation as Ahsoka stomped out of the room. The girl huffed through the house, fuming over her mother's fussy-ness.  
Padme looked up from her embroidery as her younger sister stormed into the room, and paced in several jerky circles before she grabbed a throw pillow from the couch and punched it several times before flinging it back down.  
"What vexes you, darling?" Padme lay her work in her lap, offering her sister a gentle smile.  
"Mother!" shrieked the younger girl. "She wants me to step out with that Tradwick man! I'm to dress up and act like a "Lady" and simper and flirt and maybe I'll land myself a husband of acceptable means!"  
She flung herself down on the old leather loveseat with a most unladylike expulsion of breath. "It's tripe, I tell you! Utter tripe!! Momma is so preoccupied with our future bank accounts that she seems to ignore our feelings in the matter! Tradwick is a prune!"

"There, there, pigeon… you musn't fret so. She means well… she just wants us to be settled as happily as she is." Padme's gentle fingers stroked Ahsoka's thick braids, smoothing the few little fly-aways that stood out. Ahsoka settled against her with a pleased sigh. Padme always had a gentling influence on her wild heart, the older girl presenting as the female version of their dear, sweet father, Plo Koon Di'Nabierri. 

"Why is "happily settled" somehow synonymous with "married"? I could be quite comfortable without a man looking over my shoulder, Paddy." She pulled her plum colored lips into an indignant pout.

"Oh, you know very well why, you goose! None of us daughters can inherit Poppa's estate, by the law of the land." Padme flicked her little sister gently on the nose. 

"But not, dear sister! I intend to make my fortunes as war, like the great generals have. I'll become a powerful Lady Warrior with my own army, like the Countess Shak-Ti. Then I will warrant my own estate; no husband required."

Padme sighed, both pleased with Ahsoka's spirit and dismayed with her fantasy. "Darling.. the Countess was already fabulously well endowed. Most of the men who would seek to pressure her are already in debt to her…. and her army is vast. There are few who would dare demand extra sugar for their tea from her. We aren't so lucky."

Ahsoka nodded her head ruefully. She knew these things as well as Padme did, but preferred to indulge herself and grasp at the fancy of an unmarried life of excitement and exploration, rather than the perceived drudgery of domestic responsibilities bound to come with matrimony. 

"How about this, chickadee; we go to the ball tonight at the public building and you put in a good 'simpering and flirting' there to put her mind at ease? That won't be so bad, we all of us will be there doing the same."

"All of us" referred to the flock of Di'Nabierri daughters: Padme, Ahsoka, Barriss, Sooli, and Kitty. Sooli and Kitty were referred to as "the little girls" or "the babies" as they were only fourteen and thirteen, far too young to be husband hunting just yet. The older three were certainly of that pretty age where a girl is well on her way to becoming a woman; filling out her fashionable dresses and growing into limbs that had so long seemed awkward.

"If I must, darling Paddy…. But only for Poppa's peace of mind." Padme beamed at her sister's acquiescence, glad that she would put the needs of the family before her personal feelings, at least on the matter of social frivoloties.  
With a great feminine bluster the little girls tumbled into the common room, gasping and giggling.  
"Oh! Sisters! Such fun!" Sooli squealed. "A dance! A dance! Oh, I'll wear my rose colored chiffon; it's just been mended… and perhaps Momma will allow me to borrow her pearls! Isn't it divine!"  
"And cake and punch! Do you think they will have sweets?" Asked little Kitty, ever the muncher. "And momma says I might dance if I'm asked…. Imagine… me… dancing with a man??" Kitty had only ever danced with her sisters and Poppa… this was her first outing of the sort and she was stewing in nervous excitement.  
Padme hushed the two with gentle clucks and croons, brushing Kitty's "wings" - the loose soft hair that appears over her ears - setting them back against her head.  
"It will be splendid, darlings. Now, go set out your things, and you musn't forget gloves and perhaps a fan." The little ones shrieked and giggled out of the room.  
"What of Bariss? Where has she hidden herself?" Wondered Ahsoka, leaning over to study Padme's embroidery.  
"I believe she was tending to her herbs. Perhaps she has something nice smelling for us to use in our toilette?" Padme was not fond of wearing cologne and knew Ahsoka shared the distaste.  
Ahsoka agreed with a humm. "What's this beautiful work, Paddy?"  
Padme held up the piece she was working on. It was made of several faun colored leather straps, attached at metal rings at odd angles, and two oddly shaped pockets at either side. She was embroidering over the straps with a creeping rose design, a larger bouquet displayed already on one pocket.  
"My new vest holsters. I thought they would look smashing all done up and wear so beautifully over my traveling coat. See, revolver here… side arm here… and my saber can attach near the shoulder blade."  
"You are a wizard Paddy, truly… it's stunning!  
Mayhap you'll help me make one?" Ahsoka gasped.  
"Of course dearest, there's no reason one can't be fashionable and well armed, even if we are in a decades long war."

Now, dear reader, you've had a delightful little peek at our heroines; distracted as they are by girlish fancies - courting and dancing, perfecting their stitchery skills, and, of course, maintaining their battle kit. Why, pray tell, are two sweet young ladies distracted with pistol holsters, you ask?  
You see the DiNabierrie's make their home during a turbulent time. The lands were once joined in dignified governance as the Grand Republic, a democratic house ruled over by the senate and their Chancellor. Fine times were they, under the old GR; trade was booming and businessmen amassed great fortunes; the old money frolicked and competed with the new money for the favor of the creamiest of the upper crust, the descendents of old royal houses that had lay down their crowns and scepters when they had joined their lands for the good of all. Parties and balls and soirees were held at an exhausting clip, and many a young lady could be swept away in the magic of it all.  
BUT! Oh, despair! The politicians had become complacent and easily swayed. One senator, a sly, deceitful creature named Palpatine, recognized this. With dark whispers and careful parleying, he bought or bullied many into his political harem, the pleasures he sought were their private armies and their fertile lands, and when he had amassed enough…. He struck! In one fell swoop the Republic crashed down, and at dawn the next day rose the Empire, and all hailed Emperor Palpatine. The corrupt, the weak minded, the blind, and the greedy stood with the Empire, but there were many who would not be ruled by the despot and fled the capital city of Coruscant for the countryside to the west to regroup.  
Many of the rebels were good old republic military men, such as our dear Poppa Plo. They feared not the horrors of war and gathered their arms and their men willingly, vowing to take back the republic for the sake of their children. These honorable soldiers set to work carving away at the edges of the Empire's holdings. The New Republic, they called themselves.  
For the sake of maintaining their armies, it was agreed that the batallions might keep what they captured, and many a General became a wealthy man in return for his willingness to make war.  
Thus arose a new moneyed class. The military officers, though looked upon with disdain by the old gentry, couldn't be ignored as the new powerful movers and shakers of the world.  
The war dragged on for years with grievous losses on both sides. The Empire took to brutal terror tactics to slow the Republic armies, sometimes razing entire hamlets to make a statement, the innocent considered fair game as well as the soldiers. Kidnappings were on the rise, and bandits ruled the borderlands that separated the New Republic from the Evil Empire. The military men saw the writing on the wall and began training their families and households to defend themselves - servants… children… males and females alike. It was necessity. The old gentry were horrified but many a respected noble had engaged the martial arts to great success, such as the House of Skywalker who defended their vast estate of Tatooine fiercely, or the Countess Shak-Ti, easily the most powerful woman alive. Begrudgingly they followed suit, and the younger generation set about making the practices fashionable and refined, and the war birthed a new caste of elite - the noble warrior, blessed with the greatest finesse in both decorum and destruction.  
A gentleman's finest could not be complete without sword and sidearm, and handsome sashes and vests for the storage of ammunition were all the rage. The young ladies, much to the chagrin of many a perfumed and frilled Auntie, were inclined to don cunning lingerie for the purpose of stowing throwing knives and Derringers, tall boots to accommodate ice pics, and elaborate body harnesses of stout and sultry leather on which to carry their weapon of choice.

And so we find ourselves, sadder yet wiser,, again in the company of sweet Padme and Ahsoka as they work their own accouterments, making them ready for ball or battle; either way they were prepared.  
Poppa Plo… you see… was not inclined to merely arm his beloved daughters, oh no. He had done his years as a boy at a far off monastery, in the tutelage of the monks of the Jedi order, an ancient religion that practiced the keeping of peace by the clashing of the saber. Humble and dignified, the monks had made young Plo into a master swordsman and martial artist, allowing him to rise to the rank of Lieutenant quickly within the Grand Republic army.  
As the world continued to fester around him and his daughters grew, he was saddened that they could not inherit his modest estate for the sake of the anatomy between their leg. But he could give them his martial legacy! And so were raised his girls in the way of the warrior - calm, graceful, and lethal.


	2. Spirits & Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, isn't it splendid?" as young Sooli might sigh. "Oh to be a fine lady and dance the night away in the finest of silks, with scores of suitors arguing for your hand!!"  
> "Mrph!" (It appears Kitty has found the bon bons)

Even now as the young beauties primp and polish, twist up their locks, and lace up corsets, they do so in a manner where a stunning hair comb hides a wicked blade, and the garters attached to the underthings have clips to carry a thigh holster. Sooli sighs with pleasure as she tucks away her pretty snub nosed blaster, all softly polished nickel with a smooth grip of purple heart wood, a gift her last birthday from sweet Poppa - even though Mother looked as if someone had spit in her breakfast oats.

Ahsoka dressed in a smart dark blue dress with high slits at the thighs, to accommodate her punishing roundhouse. Her best holster was a black leather piece that settled nicely at the waist, set with simple nickel rivets. She hung her large saber at her left hip and her tanto at her right. She completed her person with with long black gloves, tall black boots, choker, earrings, stockings, cloak - everything in that somber tone - "as black as my heart!" she told herself with a giggle. 

The public hall was festive, aglow with the light of many lamps and jolly music hung in the air, punctuated by bits of laughter. Ahsoka hopped from the carriage lightly before a coachman could present himself, and she turned to offer a hand to her sisters as well. Hearing a high pitched cough, she turned to see Mother DiNabierri shaking her head sharply at her unladylike behavior, and with a sigh she stepped away, allowing the hired lad to offer his hand to the girls. Of course, Padme and Barriss needed not his help and floated to the ground gracefully with barely the brush of fingers over his palm.

Poppa had helped the little girls from his own carriage and offered his arm to Mother as he brushed down his coat. The sisters fell in behind them like a good little flock of ducklings, bobbing along across the cobbled yard to the double doors of the entrance. While they deposited their traveling things with a servant in the main foyer, Ahsoka noticed that the ballroom was dead ahead through an arch between two double staircases. To the right, a dining area with a table loaded to bursting with good things, and to the left appeared to be a salon, for to rest the weary dancing feet or to escape for a quick kiss with a handsome beau…

She blushed a little at the thought and busied herself with straightening her gown and checking her thick white braids in the mirror.  
Mother so fretted over Ahsoka's coloring. She was of an unusual heritage, with skin the color of burnt sienna and hair as stark white as new snow. The woman was often beside herself worrying over what colors suited her daughter's striking complexion, and often just went with clothing of the same colors. Blue, being the girl's favorite, mercifully wore well against the ochre, and stood out so prettily when she twisted the same shade of ribbons into her hair, which was artfully braided around her scalp, but came to three thick tails that fell around her shoulders like rope.   
Whenever Mother worried too hard over the girl's striking appearance, she would calm herself by remembering that the Countess Shaak-Ti was of a similar heritage and coloring, which by default would render Ahsoka rare and fashionable. She only hoped the suitable lads thought so. 

She glanced at her sisters… a strange bunch they were! Beautiful, doe eyed Padme was the only natural child of the Di'Nabierri's, having been made only days before Plo Koon had ridden back to the front with his men, where months later a lucky blaster bolt nearly took his life. Dear Poppa had survived, but his ability to father children had been lost. Needing time to heal, he set out for home, heart heavy with the news, as he had promised to bless his new wife with as many children as she wanted. As he was being tucked in by the medics, a cook had approached him with a wee bundle - a baby girl, orphaned by the war. Would Sir please bring her to safety since Sir was traveling back to civilization? He had wept at the news, cradling the little thing and peppering her with kisses and she was his before the wagon began to roll. 

It wasn't unusual, Ahsoka's arrival at the camp. Many children lost their parents to the fighting. In a sad sort of luck, families were often losing their own - menfolk and boys to the front lines, and little children to sickness, starvation, or terror attacks. That being the case it didn't take much to find an orphan a permanent home. Boys were particularly sought after, since they could carry on the family name and inherit their father's land. And so, no one gave it a second thought as the Lieutenant settled in with his new daughter, bursting with happiness at the gift he was bringing home. 

Returning to his estate he hurried to his wife as quickly as his injured person could move, and was greeted by the little mother with a surprise of her own. The few nights they had between wedding and his dispatch had resulted in a dark haired baby girl, beautiful Padme, and Lucretia Di'Nabierri had a good cry for Plo Koon's near miss as they traded their plump little cherubs for introductory kisses. 

Finding that his wife so happily welcomed the striking orphan put Poppa Plo to task, and every campaign he rode away to meant a return with another needy child, and before long he had furnished a giggling, squealing flock of little girls to fill his house. After Ahsoka had come Barriss, olive skinned with eyes like the northern sea ice, followed by Sooli, a golden haired ray of sun, and Kitty darkly tanned with thick black curls. 

No, they were a motley assortment, made up of all of the colors of the rainbow, but Mother and Poppa treated the adopted girls as their own blood, never drawing a difference between them and Padme. Poppa was surveying them with all the pride of possession while Mother was giving them a last once over, clucking little instructions as she went, reminding of manners, and decorum, and to be fearless in pursuit of a "nice man". Ahsoka rolled her eyes, but folded her hands demurely at her navel and dropped her lashes low, in a show of modest sultriness, to ease the woman's fussing, and followed behind her parents into the ballroom.

She heard a delighted gasp from behind as the little girls took in the atmosphere - music played gayly as couples turned and bobbed together, servants weaved around with trays of champagne and little tasty things, ladies were done up in their finest, feathers and flowers and gauze were abundant. Oh… and then there were the lads. Indeed, there were plenty of dapper gents, their tall boots gleaming in the lamplight, ruffled cravats spilled from high collars, and every shade of color was reflected in the handsome coats and waists they wore. 

Ahsoka, raised for the battlefield, was ill at ease in such a setting. She was a dignified girl, prone to bluntness and action, and neither strength would benefit her here. She felt a hand slip around her elbow and a body hug close to her side. Barriss gazed up at her, excitement and anxiety mixing on her face. Handsome in a gown the color of good burgundy wine, the girl would never know what a lovely figure she displayed with her sultry lips and brown locks. She was too modest to see it herself and too shy to take the compliment from anyone other than her own blood. She had reached for her older sister, seeking a bit of the wild girl's bravery to fortify her wavering resolve before she faced the masses.   
Ahsoka gave her chin a gentle tweak.   
"Don't hide, Mouse. Just be your sweet quiet self and they'll come to you like kittens to milk."

Barriss, bit her lip, obviously distressed at the idea of making conversation with strangers.  
"But Sokka… what if I say something ridiculous, and make a fool of myself?"  
"Nonsense, darling!" Ahsoka cooed. "Simply speak of the weather to begin with and let them go from there. And if your company seems an exciting sort, ask what type of blaster they favor. Likely that will lure in the type you'd be comfortable talking to."  
Barriss giggled nervously, finally relinquishing her hold at Ahsoka's arm and turned to make her way to her parents. Looking around she spied Sooli and Kitty wandering and gawking at the elegant ladies and the handsome men, smiling at the girls' unabashed awe. She maneuvered through several flouncy gowns until she could reach Padme, resplendent in cream colored silk and smokey brown leather, her chestnut curls an elegant waterfall down her neck. 

"Paddy, dearest, you are the most stunning creature here!" She whispered to her sister.   
Padme huffed and shushed the younger girl. "Certainly not! I'm such a simple thing, and I haven't jewels or a tiara or anything." Padme's cheeks held a rosy gleam and her large dark eyes sparkled. She was excited for the evening, more so than Ahsoka.  
"You, my sweet, are the jewel!" Ahsoka kissed her cheek and the two linked arms and began weaving their way along the edge of the dance floor until they found a comfortable spot to watch from. 

The tune changed and a lively waltz began. The girls beamed and waved when Poppa floated past, leading Mother in her gown of indigo and black. Other couples breezed by and the whole dance floor became a whirl of colors, corseted waists curtsying and square shoulders bowing, giggles and breathy laughter abounding.

Ahsoka did have to admit, it was rather pleasant. So much weight hung over the people during their daily lives. To be able to fling away the depression of the war and step to a lively tune was a welcome relief. As she watched her ears caught bits of gossip from the revelers nearby:  
-Young Lord Skywalker was to be here, he was, after all, the new patron of the valley, the previous principal land holder having to declare bankruptcy and flee the country.   
-Yes, it was he who met personally with the mining guild (miners were prickly, morose people, you know) and broke the strike with good terms for all  
-what better way than to ingratiate himself to his countrymen than to host a week long festival of sorts? Plenty of beer, revelry in the square, and a ball to boot! What an outstanding chap!  
\- I hear he's exceptionally handsome, with a fine chin and a regal bearing… and entirely unmatched!!!   
\- (an answering cacophony of sighs)

She rolled her eyes; no doubt he was Mother's target. One of the wealthiest men in the New Republic.  
"I heard that eye-roll, chickadee…" Padme poked her in the ribs, smiling mischievously.  
"Oh… just pitying the simpletons!" Ahsoka huffed back. "They've come here about stalking nobility and are hardly armed for the task."  
Padme giggled at her sister's acerbic statement, entertained by her obvious disgust with their peers. "Tell me, pigeon, what traps would you set?"  
"Ah, but it is the bait that is important, dear Paddy."  
"Eh?"  
"What man wants to struggle with all that flounce and laces when a decanter of whiskey and bowl of good pipe tobacco sit nearby?" 

Padme's bell-like laughter rang out and she shaded her teeth with the back of her hand as her eyes glittered with merriment, pressing her other to her belly, she provided what Ahsoka thought was a lovely enough figure to be painted and hung over the mantle.

"Poppa would be so proud to hear you say that, Ahsoka. You know how he values the simple things in life."

"A wise man, to busy himself with relaxation."

Ahsoka looked up in perfect timing with her sister, to behold an enticing specimen of a man with laughing eyes and a smile that dazzled like the sun. His hair may have been shaggy, if it had not been combed to fall in artful, loose locks that gave the impression of an easy, playful demeanor. His eyes were a magnificent blue… not the pale misty blue of the midday sky… no, his were stormy and tempestuous as what preceded a summer thunderstorm, made even more profound by the scar that graced the right one. He had a square chiseled sort of face - manly and dignified - and it framed his smile well, centered by an immaculately shaped nose… and a strong chin with a cleft. A fine chin at that. Certainly this could be no one but Lord Skywalker.

Ahsoka caught herself before she could be accused of staring. "Ah… wise and sensible… we women are busy bodies by nature, and couldn't help but come to see why spirits and smoke are so much more interesting than us." 

Her eyes twinkled with the saucyness of her statement and the gentleman laughed in a friendly way. When he had composed himself, their visitor cut a very pleasing bow, with a fist folded behind his back and the other offered pleasantly in greeting. 

"M'ladies, If I may be so bold as to make your acquaintance. I am Anakin Skywalker… of Tatooine. I couldn't help but notice your mirth and thought what jolly good company you'd make, that is If you'll have me?" He smiled sweetly for both of them, but Ahsoka could see that his eyes angled towards Padme, who bore the prettiest pink flush to her cheeks and was peeking at him from beneath her thick lashes. 

"Oh…. My Lord is most welcome to join us, especially since we are presently enjoying his excellent hospitality." Paddy whispered softly, and Ahsoka could tell that her sister was a lost cause… hopelessly smitten with the dashing young man. He seemed pleasant enough, but her stomach turned all the same. She dreaded the idea of some Romeo stealing her sister away. 

"Please, allow me to fetch you some refreshment and do me the honor of telling me all about this charming hamlet I've come to occupy." 

He offered Padme his arm politely and she threaded her delicate fingers around his elbow, her cream colored gloves contrasting with the dark burgundy of his coat. They moved off towards the side doors, Ahsoka just a step behind, but had to admit the gasps of disgust from behind them were extremely satisfying, for Lord Skywalker had demonstrated, if anything, that Padme was indeed the embodiment of the sweetest bourbon and the finest Cavendish to be had.


	3. A prickly sort

Ahsoka floated along behind Lord Skywalker and her sister, observing the two with interest. He hardly looked away from the girl once, relying on his towering stature to warn people out of his way instead. Padme, for her part, allowed herself to be led, her eyes cast down shyly, save for a peek or two which only caused her cheeks to flush pinker.   
The small party gained the arched doorway that let into the foyer, and some much needed elbow room, and the young noble escorted the girls to the salon, begging them to be comfortable while he fetched the punch. 

Once his coattails had disappeared through the door, Padme turned her wide eyes to Ahsoka with a look of utter shock, her lips drawn to a surprised "oh". Ahsoka smiled and nodded encouragingly to the girl, allowing her own eyes to shine for sweet Paddy's good luck. 

"Ah! Dear creatures, here you are!" He reappeared with the same shining grin and presented them both with crystal goblets filled with a pink brew tasting of flowers and summertime, and Ahsoka was inclined to stay just to sip at the delicious treat. 

"Oh! Oh, forgive our rudeness, my Lord!" Padme had remembered her voice. "We've been so remiss to not have introduced ourselves! I am Padme Di'Nabierri and this is my sister Ahsoka, both of our father's lovely estate of Paloma." They both cut an elegant curtsey, while still balancing the punch and Skywalker cast an appraising eye. 

"Very charmed, my ladies. How are you finding the gathering? I'm surely pleased at the turnout, I hadn't expected so many to call!"

"It's very fine, sir… the music is lively and this punch is ambrosia, truly!" Ahsoka offered, smiling sweetly, enjoying the man's genuinely pleasant nature. 

"Sir was so kind to engage us, I'm certain you must be busy with all your guests," Padme added, also blooming under the friendly gaze. 

"Not at all! This is indeed a pleasure. I'm presently waiting for my best mate to arrive… I fear he may have stood me up. Dances and things aren't his cup of tea, but I told him he had better show his face or there'll be hell to pay!" He shook his fist dramatically with the threat. 

"He is bashful then, m'lord?" Ahsoka asked.

"Ah, no. A trifle brooding. He dislikes indulging in such ways. Feels like it weakens his character - it's all studying and planning and training with him." Skywalker shrugged and leaned back in the chaise casually, crossing his legs and sipping at his own punch. "I can only imagine what he'd have to chastise me with at the moment, what with stealing away to visit with two lovely, light, breezy things like yourselves!" He chuckled.

"Don't slouch, you make me nervous… and you look undignified."

The three of them turned as a husky baritone chimed in, and Ahsoka swore the ground shifted beneath her feet. The man who stood in the doorway of the salon was as opposite of Lord Skywalker as could be. 

Not as tall as the young nobleman, this man was broader of shoulder and fuller of chest. He stood with a wide stance, his head held high and spine as rigid as the great pines that surrounded the Di'Nabierri home. Skywalker's clothes, though dark, were of rich burgundies with merry brass buttons, a juxtaposition to the newcomer's somber blacks. The only opposing notes were the cream of his shirt and a midnight blue cravat that rose from his ebony vest. He was certainly a noble of some sort; Ahsoka could be certain, for as undecorated as he was, the man's garb was of superb quality and tailoring, and she wished she could get a closer look at the silver fastenings - they appeared to be embellished beautifully, possibly by a master silversmith. His knee high boots shone softly, suggesting the man was prone to exercising them and not leaving them as a showpiece in his closets in exchange for the comfort of house slippers. His breeches were cut in a looser style, allowing for freedom of movement, and terminated in a thick complicated belt on which hung his imposing katana blade at the left hip. 

Oh, but the man himself… Ahsoka felt the most embarrassing rush of heat in her bosom as she dared to peruse his face. He was deeply tanned, more so than any other nobleman she knew, with full lips and a square jaw. His hair was a shining blond, far lighter than Sooli's gold, and cut to a neat crop, the short spikes she had seen many a military man wear, the kind that spoke of efficiency and simplicity. His nose may have looked too broad on some faces, but so perfectly offset his chiseled cheekbones, she couldn't imagine him sporting any other. And his eyes… she wasn't sure if they were brown… or gold… or even hazel… they seemed to have such a wealth of warm color to them and caught every little bit of the lamplight to reflect it back like the evening sunset on a rippling millpond. Those eyes gazed out from under a heavy serious brow ...brooding indeed… and Ahsoka felt as if he was looking into her very soul. 

"Stars, man! I thought you'd abandoned me to the masses!" Skywalker leapt to his feet, entirely unaffected by the rebuke and clapped the gent on the back as he shook his hand warmly. "I am glad you're here! Please I'd like you to meet my new friends, daughters from a local estate."

The sisters rose in tandem, both endeavoring to present themselves well, as the young lord had introduced them as "friend" - they'd try their best to be worthy of the title.  
"Miss Padme Di'Nabierri and Miss Ahsoka Di'Nabierri, please meet my oldest, sweetest, and dearest friend, Rex Mattran, of Kyrimorut. 

Ahsoka started. 

Mattran… General Mattran… one of the most powerful, most feared noble military commanders in the New Republic… son of the late General Primus Falin Mattran…   
lauded swordsman who had slain an entire company of Imperial Troopers single handedly at the battle of Silverstream bridge… leader of one of the largest and most capable private armies in existence…  
…….  
…..was profoundly easy on the eyes.

"No… no.." she told herself… "he's not that handsome… you just want to see his sword…" she flushed even hotter at the thought, as the childish devil on her shoulder snickered at the double meaning of her words.

Padme curtsied gracefully and Ahsoka remembered to follow, although hers was a tad bit stiff.   
"I am honored, my ladies." General Mattran replied soberly, as he offered a solemn yet graceful bow.   
"Maker, Rex!" chided Skywalker "Don't be honored… be pleased… be delighted even! This is a party! You're supposed to enjoy it! Dance! Drink! Frolic!..."  
"I don't frolic." Mattran fixed Skywalker with a look of disgust at the notion, and Ahsoka had to stifle a giggle. Perhaps she and the Lord General might have something in common. 

"You are very far from home, General Mattran. How are you finding our countryside?" Padme offered politely. 

"Well, madam, the valley is ideally shaped to be a death trap if the Empire invades… with the spine of mountains to the west. It would prove difficult for the locals to escape or offer a suitable counterattack." Mattran had given her the most literal answer he could find, but Ahsoka was thrilled at the opportunity to talk strategy, the first good conversation of the evening. 

"Ah, but General… you mistake the lay of the land!" She began eagerly; "There is a keen little cut through the mountains at the head of the valley where the occupants might slip away unawares. It's easy for the everyday people to pass, but difficult for armored men with tanks and wagons and such. Then the new republic armies could flank them and trap the brigands against the mountainsides, and any who found the cut and tried to escape could be easily picked off in the bottleneck by sharpshooters."

Mattran raised an eyebrow slightly at her suggestion, obviously not expecting to hear such sensible talk from a party goer. 

"Oh… that is interesting, Miss Di'Nabierri!" Skywalker exclaimed.  
Mattran lowered his brow and looked away. "Quite."

Ahsoka felt awkward. She would have expected a man of the soldiering type to respond in a friendly way to talk of the battlefield… but then again she wasn't an army chum to sit by the fire with…  
She held herself quietly, but with good grace, waiting for the men to continue on with the conversation. 

"What, ho!" Skywalker exclaimed. "I hear a lively waltz coming… Miss Padme, would you give me the pleasure of this dance?" He inclined his head with a grin and offered his hand, emphasizing the word pleasure with a sideways wink at Mattran. 

"I would be delighted!" She giggled, grasping his fingertips. "On to the frolic!" The two breezed away towards the ballroom, leaving Ahsoka and the General to their inelegant mess. Rex Mattran cleared his throat, seemingly bracing himself for something, but said no more.  
"Sir, might'nt you escort me to the ballroom? We can watch Lord Skywalker and Padme at their dance?"

General Mattran looked perhaps a wee bit surprised at her request, but nodded, offered his arm, and guided her back through the foyer to the revelry. 

Lord Skywalker and Padme had quickly gained the floor, stepping into a starting position for the waltz as the strings climbed. She spied her mother in a fit of ecstacy across the room, ogling ridiculously at Padme and her prize, while her little sisters looked on with good natured envy. 

"Madam, may I have my arm back, please?"  
The peppery voice drew her attention to her companion and she jumped, realizing she still clutched Mattran's elbow. Folding her hands, she composed herself, allowing her eyes to creep to his profile. My… the way the man stood… as if he was unwaveringly certain of every little thing in his life. 

"General, Lord Skywalker says you are his oldest friend… pray tell, how old is that?"

Mattran turned his rich eyes towards her, good smoked buckwheat honey… yes, that's the color…

"His father and mine fought together for many years, but was lost to the war when Anakin was still young. Lady Skywalker sent him to my father to learn discipline, and we studied together in the orient as lads."  
"The art of the Nippon sword.." she nodded to his hip. "Exquisite and powerful."   
"Indeed."  
She waited, but that seemed to be the entirety of his answer, and so turned back to the swaying couples.

"Do you dance, General?"  
"Not in this company, Madam."

She was beginning to be off-put by his curt, clipped responses, making her feel a touch sullen. She was being polite and pleasant, at the very least he could return the gesture.   
The waltz crescendoed to its finale and the dancers parted and clapped happily, Padme favoring her partner with a winning smile as he bowed and excused himself. She waved Ahsoka over, who was relieved for a breath away from her intense company. 

"He didn't ask you to dance, Sokka?"  
"No… I don't think he feels at all well, Paddy."  
"Aw, that's a shame. What a handsome one he is!"  
"If not a little chilly."

Mother was calling to Padme, no doubt dying for an explanation on how her daughter had made the acquaintance of the wealthy young lord, and Ahsoka decidedly escaped the other way, not wanting a lecture on the proper ways of winning over the general. As she approached a corner to hide, Ahsoka heard Skywalker and Mattran speaking not far away:  
"….. I say give it a go, Rex old boy. Miss Di'Nabierri is a comely thing, and rather a nice companion."  
"She's not half so handsome enough to tempt me, Anakin. And not a particularly enticing character either." came the gruff reply. 

Ahsoka gave a little gasp. Those words shouldn't have hurt… but they did. She whirled around, determined to put as much space between herself and the condescending Adonis as she could, and collided with a waiter, sending his champagne flutes crashing to the floor, causing most everyone to fall silent and look. 

"Oh, that is unfortunate." growled Mattran.

With a choking sound she bolted from the room, seeking shelter from his captious gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had considered "Rex Skirata"... but what a mouthful! I hope there are a few who recognize the name I chose ^-^


	4. Violent poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All to once... things go to shit. Way to spice up a ball!

Ahsoka huffed out through the glass doors of the solarium off the side of the ballroom, and out into the grass that was beginning to be dewy with the night air. Pacing back and forth several times she muttered darkly over the churlish nature of the General's comment. 

"Ugh! That Mattran… not an 'enticing enough' lady… grmmm… rurrfurr… what kind of 'enticement' is he expecting?..... grummfle… murrr… irascible…. insufferable … PRICK!

The final syllable was flung at the same time as her roundhouse, decapitating a poor, defenseless statue of a cherub in the process. She dashed the heels of her hands against her eyes, blotting away any escaped tears, unwilling to allow anyone to see that her pride had been wounded. 

She was a decent girl… she knew it. Pleasant looking, well learned, with a multitude of skills both valuable and entertaining… but of course he would look upon her as substandard. He was of the elite, and likely his scullery maids were dressed more fashionably than she… his horses had a finer dwelling… his hunting hounds a more expensive education. 

She crossed her arms firmly at her chest, her lips drawing in to a pout as she stared out into the night. That must be it. He saw her as an inferior. Not worth his notice. Well she would go back in there…. and … explain…  
She stopped short. Something or someone was moving along the rear of the building. Perhaps she should shrug it off as a few lovers sneaking out for a tryst… but there seemed to be quite a few "lovers" back there.  
Ahsoka stepped forward softly, creeping towards the gardens to peek around the gazebo when strong arms wrapped around her, a big hand clapping over her mouth.

"Don' make a sound now, luv. There's a good lass. You'll be comin' wit me an' me mates… fetch a nice chit or two, a pretty thing like you!" He stank of sweat and poor quality beer, and the sour leaf he chewed smelled like… bandits… from the borderlands..

She whimpered pitifully against his palm, playing the best she could at being the terrified maiden.   
"Aw, now! Nuttin personal… once your rich folks pay your ransom, you'll be free as a bird! I may be a workin man… but I got me honor!"  
Hmph. Kidnappers and thieves. No doubt drawn by the modest gathering of well adorned carriages. Just what she needed most - someone to take out her frustrations on. 

Ahsoka tensed the muscles of her abdomen. With a buck of her body, her feet pedaled up the stone wall of the ballroom exterior and she flipped right over her attacker's head, breaking his hold in the process. He squawked in surprise, but was too late to do anything, as she aimed a chop to his throat and drove a knee deep into his groin. As he lurched over with a groan of agony she dropped her steel clad heel on the back of his neck in a punishing axe kick, laying the man out flat and limp.   
Turning on her toes she sprinted back towards the ballroom, bursting in on the dancers with a purposeful clamor as the guests gasped in horror at her ill manners. 

She whipped her saber and tanto from under her skirts and dropped into a fighting stance with an elegant flourish.   
"I do humbly beg your pardon, everyone, but it appears there are brigands in our midst."

Perfectly on cue, the lovely glass pane doors shattered as cutthroats leapt into the hall, brandishing daggers and pistols, and the guests erupted into screams.   
She lunged to meet the two nearest to her; knocking one man's pistol away as she spun to kick the other squarely in the gut, using the forward momentum to lay a brutal slash across the chest of the first. He crashed to the floor, and the second thief followed, clutching a bleeding throat. She set back again, hearing the clatter of heels as her sisters joined her, steel singing as it was drawn from scabbard, amidst the rustle of silk and the hiss of breath.   
Several men stopped in their tracks, utterly stunned at the sight before them, until Kitty lunged forth with a feral scream, and the others took their places in their best loved dance. 

Some would later describe the sight as "violent poetry"... five lovely maidens, dressed in silks and lace… their swords glinting in the light and their faces set in grim concentration… they whirled and bowed and swayed more gracefully than any party guest that night, the melody of their battlecries mixing along with the drum like cadence of their heeled boots as they dispatched the crooks one by one. 

Padme favored a single saber, which she supported with periodic close range shots of her pistol, while Barriss wielded her twin daggers in a ballet of cruel beauty. Sooli was a surgeon-like marksman with her various pistols and throwing knives. While Kitty… the little one was a right savage with her bladed halberd, cleaving arms and legs with great arcing swings and shrieks of rage.   
Ahsoka moved with efficiency from enemy to enemy, spotting Poppa in the foyer, his own blade alive and hungry, and Mother had begrudgingly dug her black oak blunderbuss out from under her skirts and was having a rather one sided discussion with any crook who came her way. 

The clashing of steel and agonized cries of defeat could be heard from the buffet. Skywalker had engaged three brigands there, his grunts of effort sounding more like the laughter of a school boy at play. He parried with his opponent, the grind of the blades shrieking through the room before he heaved them both upward, allowing him to slam his elbow into the man's face and knock him temporarily off balance. Spinning on the ball of his foot, he brought his rear boot to the man's chest sending him crashing so firmly in to the wall as to rattle loose bits of plaster. The second lunged from behind, and Anakin arched his blade perpendicularly with the plane of the floor, cleaving the man open with a vicious upward stroke. Turning he found the third aiming a pistol at his heart. Skywalker slammed a boot on to the serving table, causing the contents to jump, then spun with whirlwind speed and kicked the large platter at the center of the mess in mid-air, sending it careening into the shooter, masticated turkey and all, and the man recovered just in time for a marble bookend to collide with his temple with a sickening crack! Skywalker chuckled as the scoundrel crumpled to the floor with a groan.

From the salon was an even more thrilling display as five of the wretches supposed they had "cornered" General Mattran. The first lurched forward brandishing a club, aiming a double handed swing at his blond head. Rex spiraled as he dropped into a crouch, sweeping the man's footing with his heel and sending the attacker crashing to the floor. A second was close behind, and the soldier continued his circular motion, spinning to his rear and sending the sole of his boot squarely against the fool's nose. The man straightened and toppled like a tree, his eyes going glassy at the impact. Two more lunged and he whipped his katana from its sheath to parry their own blades, before swinging in a smooth ellipse around his head, and relieved one enemy of his sword hand with a brutal downward stroke. To defend against his partner, Rex locked his arms at right angles, stopping the sloppy attack with a solid high block and heaving the man backwards onto his companions, the first having regained his feet.   
The dashing General set back in to an intimidating fighting stance, calmly adjusting his grip as his golden eyes gravely scrutinized his opponents from beneath his solemn brow. His katana was as much a part of him as his own arms and legs. His face did not tense or strain, his countenance was as smooth and serene as a musician at practice; his movements controlled and footwork purposeful, his only sounds the measured expulsions of breath that accompanied the systemic snap of his muscles performing the flawless swordplay. 

All three rogues pressed him, two swinging blades and the third with a fire iron. He backpedaled for space, defending all the while. One tripped, surprising the other two and Rex claimed the advantage to dart in and grievously slashed one downward across the chest and followed through with a rising swipe to his partner's gut. His strong hands following figure eight patterns in the air as his blade jumped back and forth between the two, whipping sanguine splashes across the walls as he carved them in to submission. The last attempted to crush his shoulder with the fire iron, but Rex smoothly stepped in to the attack, grabbing the man's wrists and sending him sprawling with a well timed hip toss. He had only gained his knees in time to see the general's steel gleam in the lamplight as a great stroke cleaved his neck in two, and the unkempt head landed across the room with an obscene thud. Mattran straightened himself, and snapped his arm purposefully, shedding the excess blood from his weapon in a shower across the carpeted chaise nearby.

Ahsoka had dispatched two more bandits and was collecting her posture when  
he click of a pistol hammer being cocked was heard from her rear. Ahsoka spun, carving a handsome bit of calligraphy into her attacker's chest, before folding him over her black leather boot. With a snarl she slammed her fists on his shoulders as her knee connected squarely with his face, sending him careening over backwards with spectacular crash.

She set back on the balls of her feet, elbows raised and blades at the ready, searching for any other fool brave enough to try his luck… but there were none. They had either been felled or fled, leaving the blood spattered Di'Nabierri girls posed for attack, each with a sister at the corners of her eye, a five pointed star of deadly feminine grace. 

"Daughters!" Called Poppa, his proud voice metallic through his face mask. He strode into the ballroom, surveying the massacre with care. General Mattran and Lord Skywalker followed, gore soaked katanas at the ready. Mother also blustered in, clucking and scolding the mobsters for disrupting the party and leaving her daughter's lovely gowns ruined with blood. 

Mattran stooped, retrieving a scarf from the floor to clean his blade, studying the pack of girls shrewdly. He could feel Skywalker staring at him with a satisfied smirk as he wiped his own steel with a soft cap borrowed from the head of a fallen man. 

"Out with it, Anakin" he grumbled.

"You have to admit it… that was a sight to see, Rex. Quite admirable, the ladies Di'Nabierri…. particularly Miss Ahsoka." the young lord chuckled.

Mattran gave a good natured snort, dropping the ruined scarf and sliding his katana safely home in its scabbard. 

"Yes… her face is rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression in her blue eyes, brought on by the rush of battle… and I can't help but observe that her figure is… light… and pleasing… in the execution of her art." Rex admitted, casting an approving glance upon the young woman.

"Hah… not a moment ago you scarcely allowed her to be pretty!" countered Skywalker. 

Mattran rolled his eyes at his friend, unwilling to concede the small victory. "I don't want her company, Anakin. Be done with it."

Anakin shook his head with a sigh of defeat. "Very well, but there will be those that do… and I'll not listen to you then…"

"You'll not have to listen to me at all."

●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Ahsoka sat at breakfast the next day, sipping her coffee pleasantly, thinking back on the events of the previous night. 

Lord Skywalker had cheerily thanked them for attending and praised their contribution to the night's finale, accompanying them to their carriages before bidding an appropriate yet energetic "goodnight" to Padme in particular. Her sister had settled into the seat with a happy sigh, and Ahsoka couldn't but be pleased for her. Skywalker was as likeable as Mattran was morose. His "sweetest" friend indeed. 

Her mother had pounced on her, demanding to know of her successes with the General, only to be disappointed when Ahsoka proclaimed him to be uninterested.   
"Well, no matter. We will likely see him again and have another chance!" Mother exclaimed valiantly, leaving Ahsoka grumbling at the stairs. 

Morning revealed a cooler head; she'd not trouble herself with Mattran's opinion, and instead go about her day as usual, refusing to spare another thought on his honey colored eyes or his fine figure.

She had just decided to amuse herself for the morning with a good book, when her plans were dashed by the announcement that a visitor had arrived and was waiting in the library to be received. Poppa shook his head wearily at the name, and rose to go greet the guest. The girls tittered among themselves, wondering if it was any gentleman from last night, come to call on the marriageable young ladies.

Plo Koon returned a short time later, leading a tall thin man with the countenance of a snake oil peddler. 

"Daughters! Daughters, please welcome to our home my dearly departed cousin's adopted son. He's come to make your acquaintance, and perhaps offer some pleasant entertainment. Padme, Ahsoka, Barriss, Sooli, and little Kitty, please meet Hondo Onaka.


	5. Defiance for breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He talks as if he's chewing his face!" Spat Ahsoka.   
> "Better his own than mine or yours!" Gagged Barriss.

"Mightily pleased to make your acquaintance, my ladies! I hope the day finds you all in good health and good spirits, by the grace of the living force!"  
Hondo swept a deep bow with a flourish, and Ahsoka was reminded of a male peacock dangling his lavish feathers before a somewhat bored looking hen in the back garden. 

"Please, do sit, Mr. Onaka! What brings you to our humble home this fine day?" Mother asks in her company voice. Ahsoka could see the woman analyzing the guest, taking in his clothes… the shine of his shoes… the garnet he wore on his right middle finger…

Onaka helped himself to a chair next to father's place at the head, next to Sooli, who was peeking at the newcomer over her teacup. 

"Well, madam… while deep in prayer earlier this week I was reminded of the passage of time when I beheld that my damask curtains were looking a wee bit threadbare in a spot. I thought to myself, "Hondo! The years are going by quickly and you are still alone! Mother has passed since three years and you have no siblings to speak of… but ah! You have family yet! Seek them out and be all the merrier for it!" And so you find me at your breakfast table, seeking the company of   
my dear uncle… ("cousin", inserted Poppa)  
...cousin, Plo Koon Di'Nabierri! ("Once removed" concluded Poppa)

A maid bustled in with more tea and coffee and toast and things, spreading the refreshment out for all to sample. Onaka helped himself, narrating his movements with little "tut tuts" or "humms" as he busied himself with his tea. "My, what a fine service for condiments! Exquisite, Ma'am… hand carved crystal… from the artists in the Naboo countryside… perhaps?" He began spooning sugar from the bowl he clutched.

"Eh… oh, it's just a simple set, from right here in the valley." Mother replied, looking a touch confused at his interest.

"Ah, I see… pity." He continued spooning, and Ahsoka was beginning to be nauseated by how sweet his tea must be. 

"Mr. Onaka, we all attended the dance at the public house last night… did you have the pleasure of visiting as well?" Padme had jumped in, lending herself to the hostess role easily. 

"Ah, no I did not. I was involved in the comings and goings of my patroness. You see, I rent a darling little cottage to the north, on the great estate of Kamino-tarre. It's part of my payment for acting as spiritual leader to the nearby congregation. Perhaps you've heard of it's Lady… the Countess Shaak-Ti?"  
He sipped his tea with an over emphasis on his raised pinky finger, waiting for the shock of his audience.

"My! That is grand!!! The Countess is an extremely fashionable and accomplished woman! Everybody knows of Lady Shaak-Ti and her beautiful home!" Mother exclaimed, leaning forward with a hungry look in her eyes."

"Yes, well… my Lady has been traveling and there was a great to-do, what with her staff getting the place immaculate for her return home. Such wagons in and out, it looks as if she plans an extravagant party of some sort!"

"Oh, how exciting! Please, Mr. Onaka… what were your responsibilities?" Sooli gasped, enthralled at the idea of such an elegant ball.

Onaka looked up awkwardly. "Ah… well… as a man of the cloth my services aren't required for such domestic things. I only took notice as my cottage sits along the road there."

Ahsoka rolled her eyes. So… he was really just a busy-body. 

"Oh, but I do get to hear of all of the best gossip, the area matrons are always dying to get my opinion on all the important matters."  
He set down his tea flavored sugar water, and dabbed his lips daintily. "Surely you must know of the house of Secura?"   
They nodded and agreed eagerly, but Poppa sighed. "I knew Lord Secura from our days in the war. I was greatly saddened to hear of his passing."

"Indeed! But he has no sons, only a daughter, Aayla! His will States that all of his wealth shall go to her and her husband and is to be held in escrow under a steward if she is unmatched at the time of his death! Now, the Lady Aayla has been maintaining the estate since this summer by herself! Utterly unmarried!!" 

Ahsoka's ears perked up at the news. Good for Lady Aayla! She would do the same if Poppa was lost suddenly. The thought made her heart twinge a bit, but she wouldn't allow her sisters to become destitute.

"Blessed Maker!! Whatever is to become of her? She can't carry on like that, can she?" Mother exclaimed.

"Well… a cousin stepped forward as steward, but she rejected the offer! The high Court of the New Republic bade her come before them and explain herself. She stated that she was engaged to be married and would not allow a steward to manage her properties. The court was furious…, you see, no one knew a thing about this mysterious fiancée and demanded that she return in a week to be represented in court by her husband. She said put it in writing and she would." He nipped at a piece of toast, stopping to smear extra jelly on to the slice before he popped nearly the entire thing into his mouth.

"Oh, my! What happened next, Mr. Onaka? Did she really get married?" Kitty was wide eyed over the excitement of the story.

"It was horrendous!!! Let me tell you… apparently she did return in a week's time and brought her husband to speak for her. Everyone was abuzz with the knowledge that the newest Lord Secura was there. Oh! But how awful! She had married one of those island savages that served in her army!!! He spake most forcefully before the courts… quite rude and uncouth; most unfortunate. But.. they had recorded their demand and she had presented a lawfully wedded husband, and so was free to claim her inheritance. Truly awful… I had supposed she was a decent girl, well educated and well behaved, but how dark her true colors are!"

Ahsoka felt a burning fury rise in her cheeks and she was opening her mouth to snarl at the simpering idiot when she heard a harsh squeak from her right side. Mother was glaring at her severely, and gave a sharp shake of her head to silence the raging girl.  
Her sisters also looked dejected at Onaka's scorn for the young heiress, who had chosen her own destiny, rather than be steered there by the bullies at court. 

They all sank into silence as Hondo continued to blather along about this Baron or that soiree, having quite emptied the sugar bowl after an entire pot of tea. Father was sagging in his chair and even mother was beginning to rap her fingernails against the table. Ahsoka could barely listen, she was so upset over Hondo's judgement of Lady Secura. What right did any of them have to criticize her choice of husband? Even if she did only marry him to claim what was rightfully hers to begin with? It was all so unfair. 

Father finally began polite verbal nudges to Onaka, trying to signal that the visit was at an end, but the man was either entirely unable to read Poppa's tactful suggestions, or he was ignoring them entirely. He finally suggested that all five daughters needed to tend to their "feminine needs" and that Onaka must forgive them their privacy. The color veritably drained from the man's face at the suggestion of such mystical and horrifying happenings and he leapt from his seat as if stung. Poppa led him from the dining room, thanking him for the visit and bidding him good travels, and the last thing Ahsoka heard was Onaka's promise to return on the morrow.

Ahsoka sighed and dropped her forehead to the table. "He is awful!" She groaned.

"It's so sad that the courts forced Lady Secura to marry and then judged her choice of husband… I suppose they meant for her to marry one of them." Padme's face was crestfallen, truly sad for the other girl.

"She made a foolish choice." Mother said quietly. 

The sisters looked up, shocked at their mother's statement.

"If she had married a noble she would have gained a powerful family to support and protect her. What can that man offer? She has set herself up for a very lonely existence by losing favor with the courts."

"You mean she should have toed the line like a good girl and minded her place." Ahsoka spat bitterly. "To hell with how she feels, as long as the "lords of creation" are fat and happy and wealthy!"

"Ahsoka Di'Nabierri! You will mind your tongue, young lady!" Mother snapped. "What do you know of these affairs?"

"I'm sure Little 'Sokka is a wise enough girl to know her own mind, and can imagine how distraught she would be if this was her story." Poppa offered,quietly but no less firmly, as he returned to the dining room.

"Did I hear Mr. Onaka day he will return tomorrow?" Mother queried.

"What was his purpose in coming here Poppa? He seemed only to want to brag and gossip like an old hen." Asked Barriss.

"Daughters… the unfortunate truth, you already know. None of you can inherit my property, and Hondo Onaka is my closest male relative, essentially my heir. He comes to survey his future property." Plo admitted sadly.  
The sisters gasped, knowing the truth of the inheritance, but not that Onaka was the heir apparent. 

"I'm convinced that he seeks one of you as a wife to solidify his claim. No doubt he'll be back for wooing."

"Well… Padme has caught the eye of the young Lord Skywalker, so he certainly cannot hope to court her. Ahsoka would be the next choice." Mother admonished, stroking at her nose while she thought.

"Mother! Absolutely not! I find him repulsive!" Ahsoka cried.

"Ahsoka, Mr. Onaka is a decent match. He is guaranteed employment as a spiritual leader as well as the benefits that come with having a patron. Especially if he remains in the employ of the Countess!" Mother argued. "What more can you ask for?"

"A husband I actually want to be married to! Someone that I share affection with… mutual respect… companionship! Is that so deplorable?" Ahsoka's voice cracked with passion at her response. How could her mother deny her something that she herself had. 

"Ahsoka, you don't have the luxury of such fancies! Love and affection won't keep bread on your table!"

"It will if we are willing to work together to put it there!" The girl hissed in defiance.

Plo Koon set a gentling hand on her shoulder. "Peace, daughter. It will not do to upset yourself so. No one is forcing you to court nor to marry Hondo Onaka."

"What would you have our daughter do, Plo Koon? Marry one of these destitute soldiers the Empire plucked from the islands, as Aayla Secura did?"

"Lucretia… I have fought alongside the Fett Battalions for years. They are all decent and honorable lads, absolutely dedicated to their family and their cause. Any girl couldn't ask for a more devoted man for a husband.. I would be proud and honored to have my daughter marry one of them. I've a mind to bring my officers home for a visit."

"ABSOLUTELY NOT! I'll hear no more about my daughter marrying one of those soldiers! Not a word!" Mother's voice was shrill and severe, and the daughters were frozen in place. They had never seen their parents argue before and this was shaking the very foundations of their happy home.

Poppa turned slowly, rising to his full height even as his voice fell in tone. "Is a soldier really such a poor choice as a husband, Lucretia?" And Ahsoka was sure she saw her sweet father's heart cracking.

"Oh! Damn you Plo Koon De'Nabierri!" Mother shouted, bursting into tears. She flung herself across the room, wrapping her arms around his chest and burying her face there with a sob. "I just can't bear it! I never know if you're coming back each time you ride off to battle. I know what happens to soldiers… and I don't want my daughters to be widows! To have to raise their children alone!"

Poppa hugged her close, dropping his masked face to her hair. "I am sorry, little wife.. I did not think."

Mother snuffled against his vest for a minute as he petted her back, the horrid tension having broken. Sooli had clutched Ahsoka's hand with anxiety and across the table, Kitty's face was buried in Padme's shoulder, with Barriss gathered close on her other side.

Mother wiped her eyes, still remaining anchored to her strong husband, as if he might disappear when released. "Daughters, I don't ridicule a man for being a soldier, they are the ones who guard our lives! But to think that your man - the father of your children - leaves to fight and there is a terrible likelihood he will end his days in the mud of a battlefield instead of warm in his own bed… and then you're alone to fight your own terrible war. It can happen. Likely it will! Father and I have both suffered for it." She looked to Plo Koon sadly, laying her hand on her heart.

Ahsoka knew that she was thinking of the four gravestones out in the family cemetery. A sad, sad memory for both of them, for Poppa and Mother were never meant to be married. 

Poppa Plo had a wife and two baby sons, before he even knew of Mother. Plo Koon had been called to fight and left his young wife and the little ones with her family while he rode to war, hoping that the companionship would comfort her. Tragedy had struck when the Empire had firebombed the hamlet in a campaign of terror and Father's little family was lost. He tended to the burial and mourned them, but soon returned to the fighting, seeking solace in action. Not less than six months later, lovely young Lucretia arrived at the village where Plo Koon's battalion was staging, coming to marry her betrothed, a young Corporal. The battalion was ambushed on their march back for furlough, and her husband-to-be was lost in the fray.  
That night the chaplain, a dear friend, had come to Plo Koon seeking help. Lucretia's family home had been captured by the Empire and her people executed. The poor lady was utterly alone in the world and absolutely destitute. She had nothing but a modest trunk and the man she was sent to marry. He knew that Plo ached for the loss of his wife, and wondered if two such broken, sad hearts could look after one another. "Let her keep your home, Plo, and perhaps offer you comfort in the days to come. You have both lost so much… Perhaps you can rebuild together?"  
Plo was conflicted over the proposal, but he felt for the poor girl, who had nothing left. He had approached her quietly, and offered her his home and his hand. They married the next day and he took her to Paloma, solemnly interring her deceased fiancée near his own little family. Just days later he rode to war, and when they saw each other again, they both bore a baby girl in their arms.

Ahsoka stood, pushing her chair away, and coming to her parents, who straightened and faced her. 

"Poppa… I don't want that… to be left a lonely widow." She whispered quietly. Plo's shoulders seemed to slump a bit, but Mother looked a little hopeful. 

He sighed, nodding his head. "Very well, Ahsoka…."

"I…." She interrupted him. "...If my husband is to die on a battlefield… then I will be by his side, fighting to my last breath." 

She felt a hand at her elbow as Padme joined her, and then the warmth of the rest of her sisters as they stood at her side, somber defiance shining in five pairs of eyes. Mother gave a strangled noise of frustration, but from the crinkled skin near Poppa's dark glasses, she was certain that he was smiling behind his mask.


	6. Straight from the horse's mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Honeycomb please, for Poppa." Ahsoka requested.
> 
> "I'm sure m'Lord might be more interested in a nice scotch now, missies.." Cook sighed as she riffled through the pantry.
> 
> "Butterscotch??" Kitty popped up, eyes wide and licking her lips.

Ch 6 P&P&P

Ahsoka tip-toed through the halls, Kitty at her heels. Padme had escorted mother to her room, the woman on the verge of an anxiety attack after the argument over the breakfast table, and Poppa had excused himself to the study. 

Sensing that her dear father could use some tender loving care after his nerves had been blistered, Ahsoka had raided the kitchen for a favorite snack of his, one that he had stolen away with her many a time, to share in secret in the shadows of the warm library: honeycomb, with Cook's good shortbread biscuits, as wholesome a balm as she could think of at the moment. Ahsoka and Kitty clutched their bundles and crept as if on a secret mission, even though there was no reason for stealth. It just felt right, risking life and limb to present the treat to their dearest Poppa in his time of need. 

She rapped cordially at the great oak door before letting herself in, Kitty slipping around her like a soft little ghost as they padded in to his sanctuary. Ahsoka loved this place, surrounded by books and maps and curious things gathered by generations of Di'Nabierris. Poppa had kept the aged couches and chairs, worn soft by many a bottom over the years, loving the "lived in" comfort even as mother had fussed that the scarred brown leather was horribly passe. The dark oak of the shelves and fixtures contrasted with the soft plaster of the walls only gently, and they were rendered so cozy by the light of a merrily crackling fire in the evenings. Voices did not echo here, being muffled by the softness of the books and the thick velvet curtains that hung at the windows. The dignity and the richness of it enveloped Ahsoka like a warm cloak, and she allowed a little sigh for the great love she held for this haven to the written word.

"Is that my naughty girls?" Poppa's dusty voice came from the depths of his comfy old wing-backed chair and the two slipped to his side and planted kisses at his temples. He hummed in appreciation and Kitty climbed into his lap, snuggling close as she had when still a baby. Ahsoka dragged her favorite ottoman close and curled there leaning against his knee, as had been her practice her entire life, when seeking counsel, philosophy… or even an exhilarating fairy story to tickle her fancy.

"Poppa, I'm sorry Mumma shouted at you. She ought not have done that." murmured Kitty, smoothing her fingers over his silk cravat. "It wasn't very ladylike… and so unfair!"

"Dearest Kitten, Mumma has a great deal on her mind, and I cannot fault her for her reservations." Poppa butted his forehead against hers, his own private version of a kiss, since the metal face mask covered his lips. "She came very near to losing me to the attack that gave me this faceplate, and hastened my honorable retirement from the military."

He tapped a finger against the etched steel, and they were both acutely aware of the rasp in his breaths, the result of a hideous gas attack by the Imperials that had scorched all the delicate membranes of mouth and nose and eyes and lungs. Few had survived the nightmare, and Poppa had tossed and turned in agony for weeks once delivered home, until the doctors had worked out this life-saving apparatus that filtered and sweetened his air, allowing him to breathe with less difficulty. For his eyes he wore glasses of dark amber, only removing them in the softness after the sun had set.  
"Mother fears that all of you will suffer the loneliness and turmoil that she has, with a soldier for a husband."

"But Poppa… it seems no less likely that any of us would lose a husband to the war even if he isn't meant to fight in it! It happens all the time. At least with a soldier we would have bid a sweet goodbye and made our peace when he rode away." 

She paused, mulling over the tale that was stuck so stubbornly in her brain, as to give her no rest. "Do you think Lady Secura was foolish to marry the way she did? To wed one of her soldiers in order to claim her father's lands?" Ahsoka asked, a glum look on her face. "Shouldn't the court be ashamed that they pusher her that far?"

"Darling girls, you listen to me. Aayla Secura has committed no farce and I am certain her father would approve of her choice."

"Truly Poppa?" Ahsoka brightened at his response. 

"Indeed, daughters. You see… I did much business with Lord Secura in recent years, and I have a more intimate knowledge of young Aayla's mind than that self-loving Mr. Onaka.   
I wrote to her with kind thoughts for her loss and offered my counsel, should she need it, and was rewarded with the story 'straight from the horse's mouth', if you will. Indeed, Aayla was inclined to run her own estates. She was her father's pride and joy, his only child. He raised her to be as much son as daughter, capable of managing any issue set before her. He even taught her to command men in the battlefield, concerned that her future husband may not have the skills needed to tend his Fett battalions. By necessity she developed close relationships with her soldiers, trusting them as friends and brothers.   
When she returned from the courts she knew she had no choice other than to marry. Unwilling to take one of those pompous windbags to the altar she commanded her household to make ready a grand wedding feast. When asked who the guests would be she informed them that only her family was attending - which to her was her household, her groundsmen, and of course her soldiers. They all gathered and Aayla presented dressed as a bride. She informed them that she must be married and they were all there to bear witness as she took her husband. Many of her closest friends were uneasy, knowing that Aayla didn't have a beau and feared she was about to do something rash by wedding a stranger.  
The anxiety was further compounded by almost the entire gathering knowing that her highest Commander loved her madly, and was near fainting just feet away. (Kitty and Ashoka gasped in shock at the notion of the noble soldier pining for his lady; Poppa chuckling at their girlish reaction)  
She turned to her people and spoke plainly, knowing that no outsider could love and serve them as she did, and asked who among them would take her to wife and speak for them all at court as the next Lord Secura.   
Of course they all turned to Commander Bly and the poor man could hardly believe what was transpiring, until Aayla came and fetched him with her own hands, for she had every intention of marrying him from the first, having loved him before she was old enough to know what it was."

"Oh Poppa.." Kitty sighed at the romance of it. "So it was a happy ending after all?"

"Indeed! You see, Lord Secura had raised most of those men from lads, and he made sure they were as well educated in the arts of business and politics as they were in war, especially his officers. He was always hugely complimentary of Bly, holding an incredible fondness for the young man. I have no doubt that as dearly as he loved his daughter, he would be pleased with their union, as Bly is certain to cherish her always."

"Oh, I am glad, Poppa! It's so good to hear that at least they can be happy together. A pity they'll have to be harassed by the courts and ostracized by their peers." Ahsoka observed.

"Now, Ahsoka, don't be so hasty to assume the entire Republic is against them. Many of the upper classes maintain armies of Fetts. I have not heard of a single case where a Lord is not thankful for his soldiers, most claiming close friendship or at least a hearty respect for them. She'll find among her supporters some of the wealthiest, most powerful houses around. That… and when they presented at court and the Lords began berating her so, Bly set on them with all the harshness of a battle Commander and the fury of a man defending his wife, several of his brothers at his back. From what I understand he left the Ministers shaking in their boots and the Ladies fanning themselves with envy."

Kitty squealed with pleasure at Poppa's tale. "Oh! Serves them right! Those meanies!"

Ahsoka was lost in thought. How wonderful for Aayla Secura, to have been able to marry her love! But Mother's words hung in her mind as well. If her men marched to war, surely the new Lord Secura would command them as General now. Would she march with him? Or stay to manage the estate, praying with all her might to the maker, that the living force might keep him safe. It was tragic and painful… and the only answer seemed to be on the other side of war.

●●●●●●●●●●

Padme sat comfortably in one of the cushioned chairs of mother's quarters, working at a small cap with her needles. A rip had appeared at the seam and she had taken it upon herself to mend it, being the most capable set of hands when it came to sewing. Barriss cuddled beside momma on the ruffled bed, stroking her fingers along the woman's arm soothingly, as Sooli sat at the vanity, exploring the various colognes and jewels and baubles. 

Mother kept this space for herself, having found the great bed in the master too lonely when father rode to war, with too many reminders surrounding her and not the man himself. This was her little haven, to retreat to when the world became too much to bear, or to lock herself away to indulge her fantasies and notions. 

The girls had led her there to relax and let the anxiety of the squabble dissipate, fussing over her like an invalid (they knew best how to diffuse her) and dispensed all sorts of ridiculous cures and treatments to their patient. 

"Momma, don't fret over Ahsoka - she will see reason. She has to marry eventually!" clucked Sooli, sniffing at a crystal bottle curiously. "Truly, she is still only a child… and a truly purr-lile one, at that."

"I believe you mean "puerile", dear heart. And she's much more grown than you, silly creature." chided Padme, poking another straight pin into her work. 

"She can't keep turning down suitors and perfectly good, marriageable gentlemen! She should be a bit more practical… like you Paddy!" stated the girl matter-of-factly.

"Oh yes, Padme, you did so well last night! All the other girls were fit to be tied when Lord Skywalker escorted you to the dance floor." Barriss beamed with pride. "You were so elegant… like a princess in the fairy stories."

"Yes, dear," Mother mumbled from under the cool rag covering her face, "Your befriending him was most auspicious. He is a fine specimen, that one." She sat up, dropping the cloth to the side and smoothing away any lingering dampness with her fingertips.   
"Lord Skywalker's family isn't old money - his late father did well in the metal trade and trusted his subordinates to tend the business until his son was old enough to assume control. The estate at Tatooine is his family home of only two generations, and Never-failed House here in the Valley being only a recent acquisition, no doubt of interest because of the strong mining history around here. He seems quite taken with you darling!"  
She smiled brightly to Padme, pleased with her oldest daughter's prospects. 

"Well… he is a dear man, very sunny and cheerful and seems to not let the drudgery of business and war get him down. I perceive a great deal of naughtiness in him, in an entertaining, saucy kind of way." Padme spoke thoughtfully, her eyes hinting at memories of the night before - his merry chuckles and little teases. His grand smile which seemed to leap to his face whenever she met his eyes…

"Where have you gone, little one? Off somewhere with your handsome lord?" Mother teased. 

Padme blushed, crumpling the cap in her lap. "Oh really, Mother!"

"He is a fine match sweetheart! What a husband he would make!" Mother pronounced cheerfully. 

Padme hadn't been dwelling on the possibility of Anakin Skywalker being her beau, but the thought made her stomach flip with excitement. She hadn't ever been courted before… and Lord Skywalker would be among the finest of admirers. She smiled shyly at her mother's suggestion, her pleasure at the thought too new and grand to give voice to. 

As if on cue, a polite rap sounded at the door, and one of the little maids entered with a bob, bearing a letter with a burgundy wax seal. Mother accepted it and popped it open with a flick of her wrist. "Oh, Paddy, this is for you dear." 

Padme retrieved the letter, written in a robust hand that she did not recognize. Her smile grew as she realized it was an invitation to tea the next day, at the reinvigorated Never-failed Estate. Lord Skywalker was eagerly awaiting her company.


	7. A series of unfortunate events...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's it, sweet lady, hold tight. Kix'll have you mended with haste..." The tanned soldier named Jesse cradled Padme's face against his chest and stroked her hair gently as she gave a groan of pain.
> 
> The medic gave a grunt and a twist of his wrist, lifting a lead ball in to the lamplight. "Bless my biscuits! That's a big one! Ma'am! Ma'am?"
> 
> "She's gone sound asleep, lad. It's been a hell of a day for her. Let her rest."

"Oh, but Mother, can't I take a carriage?" Padme moaned as she straightened her vest holster, settling it comfortably over her coat.

"Nonsense child! A horse is ideal! And you'll make such a pretty figure, riding up to Never-failed House on Lilly." Mother quipped, abuzz with giddy energy. The others were gathered around, ready to see Padme off to her visit, the little girls beside themselves with excitement over her personal invitation to tea with the handsome young lord.

"Are you certain? It looks like rain!" Padme whined, casting an eye to the brooding clouds rolling in from the west. 

Mother beamed at the worried girl. "The perfect reason! You can't possibly be expected to ride home in the downpour! If we're lucky, you may even get to spend the night there! So much time to yourself with Lord Skywalker!"

Padme stared in disbelief at Mother and the woman's wide eyed maniacal smile, before heaving a sigh of defeat and climbing into Lilly's saddle. Ahsoka stepped to them, running a fond hand over the dappled mare's white neck, simultaneously patting her sister's thigh in support.

"Have fun, Paddy. We can't wait to hear all about your adventure. And do get a look at the library! I've heard Never-failed House has a veritable treasure trove of the Greek philosophers!" She grinned warmly at the other girl, giving her knee a squeeze for good measure.

Padme gave them all a last glance, brightening at the prospect of her solo visit, and the possible implications of it. She "cherruped" to Lilly, urging the horse to move, and set out towards the road with a last backward flourish of her hand.

Despite the looming storm in the distance, the day was mild and the ride through town proved rather enjoyable with Lilly's hoofs merrily clopping along on the cobbled high-street. She felt very grand indeed, riding in her fetching suit to take tea at the estate. Not on business or anything… just a social call! 

She had gained the fields beyond the village, and trotted on along past the farms and orchards until the woods once again consumed her. Never-failed estate was about three or four miles yet, and Lilly's brisk, neat gait was eating up the distance at a good pace.She had been riding for nearly an hour when her journey took her past an old barn that had burnt years before, the timbers having long since disintegrated, so that only the stone walls remained. Lilly frisked nervously as they neared the structure and Padme spoke softly to her, attempting to soothe her anxious mount. 

"What's gotten in to you, Lilly darling? It's naught but an old barn, sweet girl! Come along now!" She cooed. The mare wickered nervously but continued on, trusting her mistress's judgement on the matter, when Padme was suddenly hit by her own tingle of apprehension. She snapped her head up in time to see three men, covered in mismatched armor, jump from the dilapidated walls, brandishing weapons threateningly.

She cried out as Lilly reared in surprise, her fore-hoofs pedaling in the air as she whinnied shrilly, insisting to her lady that all was certainly not well and that these human creatures were most undesirable. One man jumped forward, grasping for the horse's reins, causing Lilly to rear again and spin with a frightened hop, unseating the frantic Padme. As the girl crashed to the ground, the dapple kicked in panic and with a harsh snort galloped away back towards town. Padme scrambled to her feet with a hiss, whipping her saber to the ready and clutching her sidearm in her off hand, ready to school the scoundrels for trespassing on her person. 

"A noblewoman, you think?" Grunted the green clad man, hefting a rifle affixed with a bayonet.

"Looks fine enough… heading towards Skywalker's land… and obviously trained to fight. Likely she will make a good bargaining chip." That was a man in mostly black, at her rear; possibly the leader. He too had a gun.

"Pity the horse got away… healthy looking creature. Lovely coloring." This man was dressed mostly in browns - he had been the one who had reached for Lilly. He bore a large hunting knife in his left hand. 

She crouched into a fighting stance, preparing her mind for the multiple foes. Her heart was pounding, but not with fear… merely the apprehensive excitement that proceeded a brawl. "You will maintain your distance, sirs. I will not tolerate your harassment a moment longer!"

"You shall miss, for this moment and for much longer." the man in black commanded, with much authority in his voice. "Come along quietly, there's no sense in getting yourself injured here; we've got you outnumbered gravely."

"Regrettably," she snapped "I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request." She flourished her saber for punctuation, showing her attackers that she meant to wield it. "And it is you who are outnumbered."

"Cheeky little bird, ain't she?" Chuckled Green, starting towards her menacingly.  
She threatened him with her blade, forcing him to leap to the side and jab at her with his bayonet. She parried with her saber, knocking him off balance with an elegant backhanded stroke. Swinging the butt in retaliation, he snarled with frustration as she spun away from him, simultaneously defending against a slash from Brown's hunting knife. The two men lunged at her, and she moved like a whirlwind, spinning between attackers and parrying with practiced grace. 

She counted her breaths, keeping her patience. Poppa had always impressed upon them that it would not do to rush your attack. If you could defeat your enemy with a single well timed blow, it was a smarter fight than many offensive failures. So she defended herself in a rhythmic dance between them as the leader looked on, biding her time until one got overeager and careless, providing her with an opportunity to strike. 

Black finally drew a pistol, no doubt perturbed with his partners' failure to subdue her, and Green set back to let him take aim. Quick as lightning her saber trapped Brown's hunting knife, and she whipped her pistol to the opposite man's unprotected neck, unloading a shot into his windpipe, and the green man dropped to the ground with a hoarse groan. Brown yelped in surprise at the attack and she wrenched her saber free, rapping him in the chin with the metal pommel and spinning to impale him with a final thrust. He collapsed with a choking moan as she turned to face Black, only to wrench away hard as a gunshot rang out and lightning ripped through the shoulder of her sword arm. With a cry she dropped the saber, agony dripping down the sinews along with her scarlet blood and she grimaced at the man with disgust. 

"You calm your ass down!" He roared. "You're wounded and you've spent your pistol shot! There's no chance for you now!" He surged forward, hands spread to grab her supposedly helpless form. Padme gave a furious shout as she met him with a side kick, hot anger boiling in her middle that he had dared injure her person. He grunted at the impact, but attacked with a fist that she deflected with her throbbing arm, and proceeded to beat him across the temple with her gun, savoring the dull "thwack" of the metal meeting his skull.   
With a cry he swung again, trying to knock her senseless, but the idea of pistol whipping the cur was too tempting, and she repeated the strike with a scream of rage. This stroke rattled him and he stumbled backward, cursing in pain, before rushing again. She turned on the ball of her foot, curling her body into a hook as he bypassed her, catching the back of his head with her heel, and following through with a jumping roundhouse to the kidney. He stumbled, spitting more vile curses as he dove for the bayonet, spinning on his knee to aim a rifle shot at her, only to be felled by a shot from her own large pistol. 

She groaned in relief, collapsing to her knees to rest. The entire fight only having lasted minutes, but the exhaustion was total and all encompassing. The bullet wound to her shoulder bit like fire and made her head spin, but it was nowhere near anything vital, so she breathed away her mild tingle of panic as she sat in the soft grass. Reaching beneath her coat she probed the wound, realizing that the shot had been underpowered, and the ball still sat within her flesh. She tucked her pistol away and struggled to her feet, stooping to retrieve her saber with a whine. Staggering to Black, she wiped the soiled blade across his cloak before fumbling it back in to its scabbard above her left shoulder, spitting at him for good measure once she had succeeded. Gritting her teeth in resolve, she pointed herself towards Never-failed House and ordered her feet to move - one in front of the other.

She had a mile or so to walk yet… and the bastards had ruined her favorite coat. She grumbled in disgust at her luck… meeting damn mercenaries on the road to, what could have been, the loveliest day of her life so far. She trudged along, leaving the scene of the fray behind, mourning the loss of her mare, for the ride would be most appreciated right now, what with her complaining wound. She pressed her palm there, stopping the blood flow, which wasn't severe… but unnerving none the less. Could this get any more miserable? As if in teasing response the clouds above crackled and fat raindrops begin to shower down, and the sky opened up to laugh at her. 

"Well… that's lamentable. I'm sure you didn't have this in mind, Mother, …. But I really effing hate you at the moment." She laughed bitterly as she plodded along, the deluge washing away the sanguine drops left behind her.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

The great doors of Never-failed thudded dully as fists hammered on the outside. A bespectacled servant hurried to open them as a bedraggled creature stomped inside, sputtering with a fury as she dripped rivulets from every inch. He closed the door against the chilly downpour, calling for a lad to go tend the chestnut that stood lashed to the wrought iron at the bottom of the main steps. 

"I say! By the Maker's hands, what do we have here?" He reached carefully for the soggy coat and bonnet she clawed from her form, beholding a frazzled head of white hair, framing a shining sienna face. 

"Oh, Sir!! I am Ahsoka Di'Nabierri! My sister! Padme! Did she appear at Never-failed House?? Her horse came home riderless and I'm beside myself with fear for her safety!!" She clutched the man desperately, her eyes wide with anxiety. 

"Yes! Yes, yes, Miss. The young lady is here. Arrived in quite a state, I must say. Please, let me escort you to the study, where the master takes his leisure presently. This way, if you please." He led her down a corridor lit with candle light to an opened door, a variety of voices drifting softly from inside. She entered, not wasting a moment fretting over her disheveled appearance, to find Lord Skywalker, a few odd servants, and two strange young ladies.

"My Lord Anakin…" he began  
"Miss Di'Nabierri!" Skywalker exclaimed, leaping from his chair to cross to her quickly. "Gracious, you look a fright!" He grasped her hands in his own. "You've ridden here in the storm? Dear girl, what a horrible experience!"

"My Lord, where is my sister? What has transpired that her mare returned to us in such a state - the animal was terrified, covered in lather as if she'd raced the wolves!" Ahsoka pleaded, clinging to his fingers tightly, for fear that he wouldn't understand her worry. 

"Oh, Miss! Do not fear; she is upstairs asleep, curled up with many warm flatirons for company. She came in several hours ago, soaked to the bone and near fainting - set upon by mercenaries on the road here! She was thrown from her mount and proceeded to fight them off, but was forced to walk the remainder of the way here with a bullet wound to her shoulder." He patted her damp arms soundly, doing his best to calm her.

Ahsoka squeaked at knowledge of her wound, clasping a hand to her mouth in horror. "Oh, Paddy! How terrible!" She cried, turning to run to her sister, even as she realized she knew not where the girl rested. 

"Worry not, Miss. The maids gave her a hot bath and tucked her in. I've also had my field medic see to her wounds; he's with her yet. A top rate chap, Kix is. What tremendous luck that Rex insisted a small company of soldiers must travel with us here. The general is out with a party now, tending to the bodies of the rogues as we speak." He smiled warmly enough, even if his grin didn't reach his eyes as it had at the ball.   
"I never would have thought that such a peaceful little valley would be such a fount of ruffians."

Ahsoka had sighed with relief, knowing that Padme had been cared for and managed a small chuckle at his last words. "It was quiet until you gentlemen arrived. Everyone said you'd bring some excitement to the area."

"Oh, you rascal!" He chided. "Please, can I have the maids provide you with a bit of dry clothing and a place to tidy up?"

"That would be superb, sir. May I please see to Padme first?"

He nodded eagerly, wrapping her hand about his forearm and led her from the library. They ascended the great granite staircase near the main doors and down the east wing to a quiet corner room next to an airy lounge. With a pert rap, Skywalker called for admittance and a deep baritone answered. They entered to find Padme sleeping soundly, a darkly tanned man sitting at her hip, half laying on top of her. 

Ahsoka made a strangled noise, moving to surge forth and grab him by the scruff when Skywalker gripped her arm tightly, sensing her displeasure with the stranger for his nearly lewd position on top of the girl.   
"Please, be calm Miss Ahsoka. Kix is tending your lady sister. He means her no harm!" 

Ahsoka hurried to the opposite side of the bed, stooping over as the medic raised his gleaming golden brown eyes to her, a thread gripped tightly between his teeth while one hand pinched the wound shut and the other sewed and knotted against the tension made by his mouth. His lips quirked up in a smirk and he winked saucily at her before resuming his work. She realized that his forearms and bodyweight were holding Padme firmly still so that he might stich her neatly. 

"You've drugged her?" She queried of the man.

"Mmph.. no..," he spoke through clenched teeth, "Only several shots of good brandy to numb her wits. The poor little dala was so weary she passed right out as soon as I had extracted the bullet. A fine creature indeed! Made barely a whimper, no matter how I had to dig, just lay with her face in Jesse's chest and squeezed his hand when it bit her."

Even her anxiety with her sister's plight couldn't quell the curiosity over the man. So he must be one of the lauded "Fetts", the soldiers that fought so valiantly for the Lords, men that had been stolen from their homes on the islands far to the south and held as slave soldiers under the Emperor's rule. Surely this "Jesse" must be one as well.   
He gave one last tug on the thread and righted himself, casually swiping up his scissors and nipping the excess length, before reaching for a towel to wipe his hands. 

"All set now, Sir. I'll give it a delicate final cleaning and a light bandage. It might leave a modest scar, but there's naught that can be done about that." He rose, smiling pleasantly at Skywalker before turning to Ahsoka.   
"So… you're a sister, are you? Be you built anywhere near as robustly as she is?"

He grinned, flashing a dazzling smile as his cheeks dimpled and crinkled and his eyes snapped with good humored mischief. She could be offended at his forwardness if he didn't seem just so good-natured and pleasant. She couldn't help but appreciate his square shoulders and fine stature, nor ignore the rippling muscles in his forearms, which were entirely bare as his sleeves had been rolled to his elbows.

"Oh, ahh… well," she stammered, "Father trained us as warriors our whole life, so we are fit and strong and sturdy, if that's what you mean." She offered pleasantly. 

"That's a fine thing! I marveled at the lady's heft even though she looks slight. Well built girl - firm muscles and a handsome figure." He turned to fetch the white spirits to wash the wound as he spoke. Ahsoka couldn't help but like his blunt way, and could tell he was being entirely complimentary of Padme. She wasn't even perturbed anymore that her sister had been left alone, in a helpless state, with a strange man. 

She brushed her fingers along the sleeping girl's temple, troubled at the heat rolling off of her sister's forehead.   
"She burns, Sir…." She whispered anxiously. 

"Well… she was soaked to the bone, as you are, and caught a terrible chill walking here. That, combined with the blood loss, concerns me that she has been weakened enough to catch a fever. If my lady insists, we can send for a doctor, but I assure you I can treat her soundly, and a great deal more gently than your northern healers will." Kix finished dressing the wound and began gathering his materials. "I'll retreat to the kitchens to prepare a tea for her. It will soothe the pain some and help cool the fever. We'll waken her in an hour or so to have her drink." He nodded in encouragement to Ahsoka and she was heartily impressed by the man's quiet confidence. 

She rounded the bed to stand before him, gratitude pouring from her eyes. He cocked his head questioningly at her appearance, unsure what to expect from the vibrant, soggy thing in front of him. With a small noise, she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly in appreciation. He awkwardly lay his hands to her back, unsure of how to react to the sudden embrace. Pulling back, she kissed his cheek sweetly, beaming at him as she stepped away. 

"Thank you, Sir. From every corner of my heart, thank you tremendously, for tending dear Paddy. You are a gift from the Living Force itself."

He smiled bashfully, clearing his throat as he turned away to finish his task. "I'll bring some tea to you as well. It would be a shame for you to take ill from your drenching, Miss. Now, off with you - dry clothes straight away, and perhaps a hot toddy, if Lord Skywalker would be so kind."

Skywalker gave the medic a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Indeed, Sir. Well done! My thanks to you as well, for Miss Di'Nabierri is here at my behest, and I feel the villain in this story, as my invitation led her to misfortune."

"Ah, well, m'lord… best be ready to supply ample groveling when m'lady is up from bed!"

Ahsoka burst into laughter at his matter-o-fact advice to the young nobleman and Skywalker's cheeks flushed at the suggestion. She had no doubt that his groveling would be as cheery and energetic as he always seemed to be otherwise.


	8. Common Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Anakin... I wish upon your sweet cousins a severe case of dysentery." Rex groaned.
> 
> "I'm certain someone else fathered them. I refuse to accept that we might share blood." Anakin replied while draining the remainder of his tumbler in a single draught.

Ahsoka sighed with comfort as she finished tidying her hair at the vanity of her borrowed quarters.

Lord Skywalker had been kind enough to furnish her with a guest room not far from Padme's, and the maids had led her to a cunning bathing area. The bath had been something ethereal, with a massive tub, a rather obtuse assortment of soaps and salts and oils and creams, soft fluffy towels that she could have napped on, and a girl had brought the warm whiskey cocktail for her to sip as she soaked. By the time the glass was drained the chill had left her bones and the anxiety from her mind.

She now tip-toed down the stairs, dressed in something loaned from "Lord Skywalker's cousin", who was likely one of the young ladies she'd seen before. She made her way to the study, slowly perusing the handsome paintings and tapestries along the way. With a polite rap she announced herself and entered shyly, unsure of herself when she had arrived uninvited and suddenly. 

The young Lord rose with a kind smile, as did his company (the rising, not the smiling), who revealed himself to be none other than General Mattran. One character that she had hoped not to see again. 

"Ah, Miss Ahsoka! You are looking much refreshed, ma'am! I trust the servants fussed over you properly? Lovely, thoughtful creatures, they are." He came to meet her, offering his arm in a friendly way and led her to the table by the fire where he and the others had been at a game of cards.

"Now, may I introduce my cousins… Miss Flora and Miss Fauna. They've come to visit, curious about Never-failed Estate. I do believe you'll remember General Mattran."

She curtsied politely to the girls, noting how done up they were, for the purpose of relaxing with their cousin, before giving only a curt nod to Mattran. Skywalker had retrieved a chair, settling her between himself and the General before fairly trotting to fetch her refreshment. 

"Wine my dear? Perhaps another cocktail?"

"Oh, oh no please Sir. One has been plenty enough, thank you." She answered honestly, having no interest in numbing her wits with alcohol. 

"Ah, then perhaps this!" He ladeled something from a pot near the hearth, and brought the steaming mug to her. "Rex's preferred brew on a cold night." 

She sniffed of the drink and took a dainty sip, only to be pleasantly surprised by the sweet and fruity concoction. The General was drinking hot spiced cider, bits of dried fruit peel and cinnamon bark floating at the brim. Strange… she thought such an acidic person might crave something much harsher in his cup.

"Will you play cards with us, Miss Di'Nabierri? Shall I deal you in?" Flora asked coyly, cocking a painted eyebrow in question. 

"Oh, thank you, but no. I'll be contented to watch." She sipped again, feeling fidgety at the way the other woman was studying her.

"You don't like cards?" Pouted Fauna. "I should dare say, why not?" 

Ahsoka wasn't sure why… most card games were never very enthralling to her. That and so many involved gambling, which she found to be a foolish waste. "I can't say. I suppose I'm not very good at it."

"Tch. You must be a very poor tactician, for cards is only a game of such. Anakin led me to believe you were a student of the fighting arts… also a game of tactics." Flora smirked from across the table, casting a superior glance Mattran's way. 

"Ah… I am a student of the martial ways, but my knowledge of tactics praises preparation and research, and discourages flying by chance." Ahsoka rose from her seat, already feeling out of sorts with the girl. Tracing slow, pensive steps she made her way to the nearest book shelf, perusing the titles there. "Master always stated that such pursuits are wasteful of one's mental energies, and that even leisure time could yield valuable learning experiences, in the form of self-examination, or productive activities."

She ran her finger over a title here or there, cherishing the rich assortment of subject matter.

"Oh!" Gasped Fauna, "Self-examination you say? What a salacious little tooka-cat you are!"

Mattran choked on his cider and Skywalker gaped at them, scandalized, as the girls cackled in laughter. Ahsoka didn't turn away from the shelf, feeling her face burn with embarrassment at the suggested perversion Fauna had hinted at. 

"Highly improper, wouldn't you agree General?" Cooed Flora, rolling her head on her neck so as to show off her bare shoulder his way.

Mattran cleared his throat, casting a cool glance to his side. "Highly." He bit out sharply.

"So your "schooling", little girl... did you study in Nippon? All the finest masters are to be found there. Anywhere else are cheap imitations." Flora continued arily, seemingly intent on antagonizing Ahsoka to the best of her ability. 

Ahsoka drew herself up squarely, proud of her teachers. "Since I could remember I have been trained by my gentleman father, save for three years at the ancient Jedi temple at Ahch-To. The masters there are very strict and demanding. Not many are accepted for training."

Fauna looked to be thinking hard. "I thought Ahch-To was a ruin. People live there? How awful!" 

"I suppose the tutelage comes at a bargain price!" laughed Flora. "I'm curious about your quaint little school.. Perhaps you'll grace us with more of a description?"

"Oh," Ahsoka turned to her, smiling as sweetly as a cobra, a book clutched in her hands, "I would so much rather give you a demonstration."

"Certainly, that's most interesting, Miss Di'Nabierri, but I think no demonstrations are necessary at this hour!" Lord Skywalker laughed nervously at the prospect, remembering her handling of the bandits that had invaded the dance. 

"Well… no cards… and no shows of militant prowess… can you offer us any other form of acceptable entertainment, dearie?" Sighed Flora dramatically. 

At her wits end and unwilling to be patronized by the repulsive girl any longer, Ahsoka relented. "I am sorry, but I've no other skills to offer up for your examination."

"Surely there's more to you than martial arts and a dislike for cards, ma'am? Perhaps something a bit more companionable and pleasant?" Mattran offered softly, his baritone reaching for her ears.

"I'm afraid I haven't neither the time nor the mental acuity to engage in anything m'lord might find interesting." Her reply was curt and to the point. She was finished here.

"What she means to say, Lord General, is that she is one of those females who denigrates her own sex so as to curry favor with a gentleman." Flora waxed triumphantly over Ahsoka's final statement.

"Any and all invite scorn who do not push themselves to the breadth and depth of their mind and character." Chided the general. "A great deal is to be expected of any woman who seeks to call herself a "Lady"."

"How so, General?" simpered Fauna, making eyes at the man shamelessly, brazenly seeking his praise. 

Rex sighed, obviously having his fill of the company. "A lady should discipline herself to master a great many pursuits of the artistic, the deportment, and the martial. She should have a firm grasp of singing, drawing, music, fine art, and literature. She should have well practiced grace, and impeccable manners, and speak at least three mainstream languages fluently. She cannot be without a passable understanding of sciences, history, and philosophy. Lastly, a Lady must be well schooled in the arts of blade and firearm, and certainly knowledgeable of the great masters of the battlefield."

Flora and Fauna sat blinking, a little dumb at the extensive resume the General required. Both seemed finally at a loss for words. He certainly had not included "skilled at decorating one's self with crinoline and pigments" in his list.

"Well, General, a Lady must also concern herself with the wellbeing of her family and the safety of her home, which often takes precedence over so many "intellectual" pursuits." Ahsoka stated crisply, glad that the painted alley-cats seem to have finally been shut up. "My father did not have the means nor the desire to send us to study in the East, when such accomplished and respected teachers are but a few days travel to the west, overseas. That and Plo Koon Di'Nabierri is a man of dignity and character, well-learned of the world and well-read of the ink. A finer tutor I could not have asked for."

"If you have not studied in the East, you have not truly studied modern bladecraft." General Mattran sighed, folding his cards on the table and rising from his seat. "Miss Di'Nabierri, I see you've selected a copy of "Embracing the Sword", a collection of treatises on various swordplay styles by the Great Mandalore. A ponderous tome, but highly educational. I hope you have a grasp of Huttese, as it appears to be the language of printing."

"Haven't you read it in it's original Mando'a dialect, General Mattran?" She raised her eyebrows.

He started, his own brows sinking.

"Bid gar ganar nayc haa'miitir 'Taylir te Kal'."

She replied curtly, before spinning on her heel and striding from the library, tall and proud and dignified.

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Ahsoka looked up from where she had curled on the chaise in the second floor lounge. Footsteps were approaching. Heavy purposeful steps with a long stride. Her heart jumped with nerves as General Mattran appeared in the archway. He approached almost a little cautiously, offering her a fresh mug. 

"Thank you, Sir." She sat up and accepted the drink, only to purse her lips at the bitter taste. 

"Kix fixed a dose of medicinal tea for you. Doesn't want you to catch cold." He shrugged and sat nearby, sipping his own drink.

"You needn't stay, General. I'm certain the company will be missing you." She spoke quietly. 

Mattran snorted in disgust, gesturing back down the hall with his mug. "Those rancid things? I fear I lose brain tissue to rot every moment I spend in close proximity with them. And, regretfully, I suspect your appalling treatment is the result of my presence here. If I understand correctly, Flora has plans to wed me. No doubt she felt it necessary to try to shame you before me so that I might appreciate what a superior creature she is."

"Well… isn't she? You made it quite clear that I was lacking by your standards." Ahsoka bowed her head, both thrilled and terrified by her own bravery.

Mattran made a strangled sound and she heard his knee hit the floor before her.

"No! Miss Di'Nabierri! Look at me please!"

She raised her head enough to peek at his smoky honey colored eyes. He folded a hand on his thigh, daring to softly reach out and clasp her fingers in his.

"Understand me, I beg you… I spoke to shame them! Specifically Flora. She has studied the sword in Nippon, like so many others. They may do well enough performing katas on a practice mat, but I doubt any have much real capability at all! To dangle such a notion over your head as to make you seem inferior is unbecoming and cheap. She thinks her fortune makes her something special, when someone like you has more resolve and competency packed away in your little finger! Modestly bestowed or not, you've done well for yourself."

Ahsoka blinked. His words appeared to contain an explanation… an apology… and a slight insult? But only slight… and she could appreciate his dislike for the sisters down stairs. She sighed and nodded to him, gesturing for him to sit again. He did as she bade, retreating back to his chair with a sigh.

They sat for a spell in silence and she realized that, in the moment he had grasped her hand, that he didn't have the soft skin she would expect of a nobleman. Instead his hand had been rough and calloused, a hand that was used to hard work. Curious, indeed. 

"Sir, you spoke of your own training in Nippon, and I witnessed a bit of your swordplay at the ill fated dance the other night. Your skill was immaculate; I am intrigued." She smiled softly, extending the proverbial olive branch. 

He looked surprised, then his cheeks flushed ever so slightly at the praise. "Thank you, ma'am. You as well."

She balked, not expecting his praise at all. Perhaps he wasn't such a cad as she had thought. Best find out.

"Was your own training unique, to render you with such a love of practice and perfection?"

"Hmmm…" he grunted, rubbing his chin as he pondered his response. "My own master was an obscure name. A school that has old ties with the Mattran house. He was very firm and demanding, but not unjustly. The art he taught Anakin and I was the art of surviving in the midst of chaos, of taking up the burden of the masses once arduous study gifted you great power and skill. That is why I engender such a "love of practice and perfection"... my ability is meant to serve, not to conquer."

"The way of bushido." she whispered softly, feeling a tingle of pleasure at his humbled soul. 

He raised a brow in surprise at her knowledge. "Yes. Yes it is. How would you have known of my proclivity for "practice"?"

She allowed a small smile. "Your hands, Sir. They are not those of an idle man."

The two of them remained in this way most of the evening. Sometimes talking, at others they lapsed into a comfortable silence. Through the experience Ahsoka came to realize that Mattran was not so much stand-offish, as he was cerebral, spending a great deal of time in his own head, carefully planning his phrases ahead of time until he was ready to speak. When she surprised him with an unexpected question he would gather his thoughts for a moment before replying, and she could see where highly charged social situations like the dance might not flatter him, as careless conversation seemed a struggle for him. Everything about General Mattran was ruled by purpose. 

"So please, General… Rex Mattran. Such a modest name for a man of your stature. How did your family come by it?" She had dropped much of her stiff composure and now spoke plainly, her comfort with him growing. 

"Oh…… my given name isn't actually 'Rex'. It's Aurexsander." He gave a slight smirk. "The only one who ever called me by my birth name was my father. My darling Lor - Loralei, my sister - as a babe she could get naught but that syllable out and it stuck. Then when I began training among the Fetts, they found it easier to pronounce Rex as well. So, practically the whole world knows me that way."

"It suits you." She offered. "It's very no nonsense." She sunk her chin to her palms, regarding him with more curiosity. "Please… will you tell me more about the Fetts?"

"Eh? What about them?"

"I know they used to be owned by the Empire and that they come from Islands to the south, but how did they come to be in your service? Or that of the other lords?" She leaned forward, hoping he would be forthcoming with answers. 

True to form, Mattran pondered his words for a moment, his gaze trained on his open book (The Five Rings. She wholly approved). 

"My lord father had ridden with his yeoman soldiers alongside the late Lord Skywalker. They were hard pressed to make headway, until it became apparent that the Imperials were being attacked from behind. Once the opposition broke, he discovered the camp was filled with boys, about my age, who had been stolen from the islands for soldiers so that fewer Imperials need be sacrificed. They had seen the Republic army attack and organized themselves to undermine their keepers.

Father knew that the Islands were securely under Imperial rule and lamented that he could not return them to their home, but he offered the boys a bargain. They could live at Kyrimorut and would be fed, clothed, and educated; but would they consent to be employed as soldiers and help to defeat the Empire? The lads agreed, and my father even promised a modest salary of some kind. 

I had been schooling in Nippon for nearly six years by then. Father called me home permanently, to learn to command, and train beside my future army to earn their trust and respect. I was fifteen years."

She could see in his eyes that he had receded deeply into the reverie. "Your father worked you hard?"

"He insisted that I live as my soldiers lived. No frills, as my dandy peers enjoyed. I slept in the barracks, washed at the communal baths, ate at the mess, trained in the fields. I was treated with the station of an officer and a soldier, but as his heir he expected a great deal more from me. He could be severe… harsh… but I regret none of it. There was no place in my life for weakness. Not if it was my duty to assume his mantle someday."

Ahsoka was a touch shocked. She had assumed that Mattran had simply been a spoilt rich boy; that his harsh demeanor was a manifestation of arrogance and foolish pride. In actuality it was the walls and buttresses he had built to support the heavy burden he carried so singularly, being the master of the mightiest army in their midst: the sworn duty to protect the New Republic, at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bid gar ganar nayc haa'miitir 'Taylir te Kal' - literally translates to "So you have no read hold the blade".  
> This was the best I could manage with a translator app.


	9. Of nerves and nightclothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That poor bastard has it bad, eh Sir?" Kix muttered, motioning to the top of the stairs where they could catch occasional glimpses of the General pacing in deep thought. 
> 
> "He'll get his act together sooner or later, my dear friend, else we'll have to gang up on him and beat some sense in to his thick head!" Anakin chuckled.

The sun glowed through the heavy woven curtains as Ahsoka blinked awake. The rain had ceased and the light looked refreshed and clean - ready to pour its life into the growing things of the firmament. The girl groaned, burrowing back under the covers fretfully. The night had been difficult for her. Sleeping in a strange room in a strange bed was always unnerving, but one thing after another had disturbed her throughout, and she did not doze until well into the wee hours of the morning, and even then her slumber was tormented.

She had experienced a surprisingly pleasant evening alongside Rex Mattran, talking periodically, but mostly reading side by side in a companionable silence, and it did not go unnoticed that he had chosen to remain in the lounge with her, rather than return to Skywalker's cousins or escape to the solitude of his own quarters. 

Despite the lingering bits of irritation at his callous dismissal of her at the dance a few days before, she found herself peeking at him often, the seeds of curiosity and (Maker forbid) fancy having been planted. She had been quite taken with his appearance that night at the public hall, when he arrived looking so distinguished and mysterious in his dark suit. That combined with his sun-kissed skin and chiseled features had her flustered a bit, fighting to deny to herself that she found the man.… attractive. 

Now, cohabiting so casually in this cozy private space, she was free to look upon him without fear of reprimand by a witness for being so bold. He was too absorbed in his book to notice, much to her benefit, sitting with one ankle propped on the opposite knee and his cheek leaning on his knuckles unless he stirred to turn a page. He seemed entirely relaxed - not a visible shred of the stiffness and decorum that she had beheld anytime before this. Rex had removed his black jacket, and draped it over the padded back of the chair. Ahsoka couldn't help but admire his navy blue waistcoat, decorated with a sensual black filigree, both distracted and naughtily pleased at his state of undress.

She hadn't spent much time around men. Well, young marriageable men, anyway, and Mattran was proving to be a delightful case study in all the things they could offer. Since he had come close to her she had been searching the air for additional whiffs of his fragrance - dusty cedar and leather, tobacco, and the tiniest hints of something of citrus; the bouquet proving tantalizing and fanciful. She had felt the touch of his hand and was inclined to study the shape of his fingers as they balanced the book there - tidy, but strong and well formed. He had rolled up his sleeves to below the elbow, and the slight motions used while reading were still able to showcase the muscles and sinews there, sculpted firmly by years of swordplay, physical training, and riding.   
Most beguiling was his face. His eyes were half lidded as he consumed the pages, his thick lashes the same brown as his shapely brows. His mouth at rest was a sultry pout, and she had the idea that his lips might taste of something sweet, like fruit.

That thought had jerked her out of her perusal, as she realized what the notion might entail to test that particular hypothesis, and her cheeks flushed with the impudence of the concept. Did she honestly just consider tasting his lips? Wasn't that… kissing??  
She buried herself back into the great Mandalore's teachings, hoping that a thorough study of his analysis of Aglippa the Elder might put this much younger swordsman's assets to the back of her mind. 

By and by the hour became late, and Ahsoka stood with a stretch. She thanked the General for his company and bid him goodnight, to which he rose and replied in kind. He appeared to want to speak further but no words were forthcoming, so she bobbed a neat curtsey to save him grief and stole away to her room down the hall. 

Once there she found herself in a quandary - apparently no one had thought of nightclothes for the surprise guest, and no fortune could be offered that would send Ahsoka to request such a loan of Skywalker's wretched cousins. She poked through the wardrobe desperately, but to no avail, and finally climbed in clad only in her small clothes. The sheets were cool and comfortable, but this was the nearest to nude she had ever slept, and fretted that someone might find her thusly. 

She tossed and turned in the dark, her mind in a state of flux, featuring Flora and Fauna and their cruel game of one-upmanship, Padme's dangerous encounter and resulting wound, and the dour Rex Mattran with his shadows and silences.

The man was a mystery to her in so many ways. His eyes were intensely expressive, even as the rest of his person was as undemonstrative as the marble statue in the town square. This left her unsure which cue to follow - the apathy of his demeanor or the beguiling storm in his honey colored gaze.   
Her frustrations were only compounded when her thoughts insisted on circling back around to confront her earlier transgression: the flavor of the man's lips. No doubt they retained the cinnamon spiced apple cider, and a kiss would be as sipping the draught; but what human being had the right to taste that way? She had never thought such a thing about anyone and was having difficulty separating shame from satisfaction.

Sleep did not bring a reprieve from her torment as Mattran had followed her into her dreams. He had escorted her to a ball in the library downstairs, where they were the only attendees and had pulled her very close as he swayed with her in his arms. Then his face had descended to hers to taste HER lips, and in that moment she realized she was wearing nothing save for her drawers! Her dreams followed the same script for the duration of sleep, and by the time the sun shone she had kissed him no less than half a dozen times, waking in between episodes to bemoan her traitorous subconscious and the wicked game it was playing at. 

She lay there, hiding beneath the covers, wondering if she had the fortitude to manage Skywalker's cousins and their unique brand of hospitality, or to look Mattran in the face with her imaginings fresh in her mind. 

A sudden knock at the door made her jump and scramble to tuck the bedding tightly around her, before hailing the visitor. Mercifully, in came a pleasant little maid with a fresh dress and underthings, as well as the needs to tend her hair. Ahsoka was tremendously grateful, and thanked the girl profusely as she made her exit. 

Slipping from the bed, she tip-toed to the clothing and ran her fingers over the dress - plainer than anything the cousins would wear, but clean and comfortable all the same. She wondered if it might have come from a girl in Skywalker's employ, and resolved that she would return it with a "thank you" gift. 

Ahsoka turned to fetch the undergarments and by chance caught her reflection in the full length mirror. She stilled, surprised by the sight of her body so suddenly. She hadn't spent much time with herself undressed, generally completing her bathing and dressing before coming to a mirror to tend her hair. She gave pause to look, really look at herself, and had a moment of mild disassociation. She was used to her body, from her usual perspective, but to see herself on display she could appreciate how far she had traveled down the road to womanhood. Her angles were softening as she achieved the curves of a woman's body - breasts, hips, and thighs had filled out in to marvelous fluid curves, rather than the sharp, fretful, angular awkwardness that she had lived in for the years following girl-hood. 

She knew that men desired a woman's flesh, and every well-meaning auntie, mummy, granny, and so on had told her that their physical interest preceded everything else and a well behaved girl guarded herself fiercely against wanton advances… but how wicked did that make her if she was the one doing the desiring? 

She began dressing absentmindedly, tripping over her shame at being so easily destabilized by a handsome face and a gruff voice. That and Mattran had only showcased at worst absolute apathy towards her, and at best polite company. What else could she assume, other than that her feelings were unrequited and uninvited? She wasn't sweet and beautiful like Padme, nor fashionable and entertaining like Flora. What could she possibly offer to a man like him?

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

Rex had watched as Ahsoka Di'Nabierri had slipped along the hall and entered her room a few doors down. He stood, passing his book back and forth between his hands, frantically trying to come up with a reason for her to stay, but his tongue had remained quietly glued to the roof of his mouth and his chances ended with the click of the door latch. He gave a frustrated expulsion of breath, thrusting his fingers through his hair anxiously. 

He had been terribly irked by Flora and Fauna taunting Miss Di'Nabierri, and it quite pleased him that the girl had been able to hold her own with grace. He found the first excuse he could to join her up here without being too forward and had been rewarded with intelligent conversation, pleasant companionship, and most desirable of all - peace and quiet. As far as he was concerned, the perfumed ferrets needed to exit the premises permanently, and the sisters Di'Nabierri should take up residence instead, keeping the sycophants and the marriage seekers at bay. 

He dropped his book finally, and abandoned the lounge, tracing the steps to his room in the west wing. Ahsoka's wandering eyes had not gone unnoticed, as he had been covertly studying her most of the time they had been in the lounge. It had given him a thrill in his belly every time he had found her staring, her face showcasing the process of observation, analysis and classification as she took him in. 

She had taken up residence in his mind immediately following the ruined dances and he'd not been able to expel her since; finding himself reproducing the shine of her blue eyes when he gazed at the midday sky, or recounting her ballet-like swordplay when practicing at his own. Every moment spent with Anakin's vitriolic cousins had him contrasting them against Miss Di'Nabierri and he found them sadly wanting, for her dignity, her elegance, and her exotic beauty. 

This evening she arrived having ridden at a furious clip through a lightning storm without a shred of fear for her own person to seek out her misplaced sister. His heart had leapt at Anakin's news and not more than an hour later she stood before him as fresh and placid as if she had instead enjoyed an escorted carriage ride on a spring afternoon. Even more gratifying was the intellect and wit she had expressed upon being pressed by the other girls, and he had taken great pride in her defiance, even though he had no stake in the faceoff. When she left with a final well placed strike to his own robust education he admitted defeat with gleeful albeit quiet appreciation. 

He had never met anyone quite like her before, being used to society girls who were trained from birth to please, preparing themselves to become yet another possession to be obtained by powerful men; to be placed on display and flaunted along with his other treasures. He couldn't stomach the game in the least, finding himself repulsed by the machinations of his pursuers - their ego-stroking and shallow compliments, the half-truths and desperate intrigues. He had no patience for any of it. 

His mother had been a fine woman, dignified and honest; her inner fire barely hidden by a veil of elegant manners and practiced restraint. She was the one person who had no fear of his father whatsoever, and as such was also the one person the General Primus would willingly enslave himself to. When she had passed so young, at least half of him had died with her and what was left over forsook his home at Kyrimorut (which contained too many poignant memories) and committed himself entirely to the war, and the diverting exhaustion that came with it. 

His children were an eternal source of grief for the late general: Rex had been the apple of his mother's eye and the lad had mourned her with agony, so much so that both men could not bear the other's sorrow. Loralei was imbued with her mother's spirit and beauty, and father was pained to look upon her to his dying day.

Rex wanted that… more than wealth and excitement and revelry. He wanted to love as his father had done; bound to a woman so magnificent that she carried the very sun on her shoulders. He did not want a prize pet, a trophy to be displayed and gloated over, only to find that when the hangers-on had left, his partner was just that - cold and flat as the gold coins in his purse. He wanted a woman who thrilled him, enraptured him, and terrified him. For years now he had suspected that his hopes would forever be disappointed, when suddenly Ahsoka Di'Nabierri had appeared before him, all obstinate will and virtuous cheek.

His first instinct was to thrust her away in self defense, this feminine creature who had burst forth so suddenly into his awareness. Study from afar allowed him to gather his wits,- he was not a stupid man, and this lady was of valuable craftmanship. His desire now was to reach for her with purpose, map her being, and hope himself worthy, but for all his prowess at any other instance in his life, he found that his feet had gone cold. So cold that he was frozen clear to his plums.

Mattran paced the route around his room, wandering from door to fireplace to bedside and back again, arms crossed on his chest or planted firmly on his hips as he was determined to manage a course of action before retiring. He needed to dig up the courage to speak to her properly, as a man would do to his intended. He knew just so by watching Anakin at a good flirt, which the man was a master of: Heap praise, make himself amiable, shower her with attention… but his natural inclinations were all blades and gunpowder, not exactly words of romance. A thing of beauty to him came in the form of well made horseflesh, and poetry was an immaculate battle plan. None of these were generally considered captivating subject matter for ladies. 

He dropped to the bed and pulled off his tall hessian boots, placing them neatly to the side, before getting to work on his cravat. He was fiddling with his waistcoat when it occurred to him that Miss Di'Nabierri… Ahsoka… didn't quite fit the norm of other girls he'd conversed with. He recalled that she had eagerly offered up defense tactics for the valley during their first meeting… that and she fought with the prowess and intensity of an officer. Mayhap with her he could stick to his comfort zones at first… lead with his strengths… and not fall mute at every opportunity.

He hung the vest and shirt and things on the valet, working the buttons of his breeches as he mulled over sensible discourse. He wanted a partner who would want to visit with him. He could commit to learning all manner of new things to please her, if only she would do him the courtesy of appreciating him as he was now - solemn, meticulous, disciplined, and practical. The slightest interest in his military vocation was a plus, especially since it was filling his coffers and making his home at the moment. 

He folded the pants neatly and put them to rest, padding to his bedside to extinguish the lamp and slipping under the covers with a sigh. The storm still threw the occasional flash of lightning and he couldn't resist indulging the idea that it would be a fine thing to have her quiet company to marvel at the thunder alongside him.

This was the thought, however, that proved his undoing that night. His drowsy brain rather liked the idea and spun it into a fantasy of the snowy-haired maiden slipping into his bed wearing naught but a gauzy shift and cuddling close for warmth, her soft curves pressed against him and warm breath at his neck. He didn't imagine her overly shy in the least, but perhaps with just enough of bashfulness for her bold excursion into a man's chambers. It was extremely satisfying, the risqué scenario, but left him rather more encumbered then would allow for sleep to come easily and he found himself waking often to reach out and run a disappointed hand over the cold, smooth, empty mattress next to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I really wanted to portray the shitty position that this particular society has left women in. Mercifully, the demands of war are beginning to tear holes in the stereotypes and strong gals like Ahsoka, Aayla, Shaak-Ti, and Padme will be the type to create new expectations for both men and women. 
> 
> *Sweet pea Rex isn't a pig, the spot he's in makes him a target for every gold digger in the country and he's become rather jaded by it. He's fighting a damn war and has had his heart broken by loss too many times and he really just wants a boo to plop his head in her lap and tell him he can be weak for a few minutes.


	10. Waters and winds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Gods... that woman is a work of art!" whispered Jesse excitedly.
> 
> "The face of an angel, the hands of a devil, and force knows where those legs come from!" Kix laughed.
> 
> They both glanced to the General, whose face was set in stone, but his eyes watched her with the harsh gleam of a hungry predator.

Anakin had to do a double take when Rex strode into the breakfast room that morning. His eyes had darker rings than usual, and his jaw had a grim set, and a wee black cloud seemed to be following just over the blond man's head. Rex dropped into a chair, seeming exhausted already, and slumped over the table with a heavy sigh.

"Oh dearie my... you look like hell. Rough night, old boy?" Anakin smirked, toasting him with his teacup, cheerily. Rex's eyes peered over his forearm, dripping with such loathing and misery that Anakin waved down the maid that was scurrying in with a fresh pot for the General. He hailed her with a "Psst!" and mouthed "coffee!", spreading his arms to emphasize the robust amount his friend would need to be able to function as a human being.

"Care to explain, then? Had you nightmares about Flora?" He chuckled at the thought, for Rex had quickly developed a strong dislike for his cousins (not that he blamed the man) and Anakin was praying they would take their leave soon. 

Rex rose to sitting, scrubbing his hands over his face with a groan.  
"Dreams... not featuring your darling cousin… and each one made waking all the more uncomfortable."

The maid skittered to his elbow with a serving cart, bobbing a curtsey and wishing him a good morning. She lay out quite the spread of coffee and fixings, pastries, preserves, and even a pitcher of water and a folded paper containing two of Kix's marvelous pastilles that did wonders for a brain aching from drink.  
He glanced up at the girl with as much gratitude as he could muster and thanked her softly, at which she bounced again and retreated quickly. 

"Dreams, you say?" Anakin looked on, studying his friend. The man prepared his coffee with purposeful movements, as if the roasted brew was a magic potion that would end wars and raise the dead. "Pray tell… what sort of dreams?"

Rex glared over the edge of his cup as he drew the first sip. "Dreams." He repeated darkly.  
Anakin raised his brows, gesturing expectantly. "About?"  
"Things." Rex grunted, taking another large gulp.  
Anakin rolled his eyes. "So… not nightmares… just dreams… about things that kept you awake…"  
Rex repeated his grunt as he drained the cup and set about fixing a second.

"It wouldn't happen to have anything to do with…" Anakin glanced up as Ahsoka stepped in the room cautiously. "Ah! Good morning my dear! Come in! Come in!"  
Rex's head whipped around to face her, and Anakin swore that the color drained from the man's face as he jumped to his feet respectfully. With a chuckle he crossed to his guest and lay a companionable hand at the small of her back, ushering her towards a seat… directly across from the General. 

"Please sit and be cozy. Trudy will be along shortly with your refreshment. I trust you've spent a pleasant night? Was your room comfortable?" He smiled kindly as he settled back into his place at the head of the table.

"Oh, yes, my Lord…"  
"Anakin, please my dear, we are all friends here."  
"Very well… Anakin," she continued. "Yes, everything was lovely… and thank you so for seeing to my clothing; it was very thoughtful."

"Pshaw, not at all. It is a pleasure to provide for a sweet creature like you. Ah! Here she is!" The maid, Trudy, had appeared with more tea, smiling sweetly for Ahsoka. She laid out an assortment with the biscuits and things arranged like a flower garden, the preserves and creams plopped in the centers of the "petals" artfully, then scurried away back to the kitchens. 

"I say, you've made quite the impression on my staff - look how lovely this is!" He admired the presentation thoughtfully. "Likely a cheeky nod for how you left Flora and Fauna struck dumb last night."  
Ahsoka felt her cheeks warm at the statement. She hadn't been certain how Lord Skywalker felt about the dressing down she had given his cousins, but the kind smile and the merry sparkle in his eyes said that he wasn't troubled about it. 

Ahsoka set about fixing her tea quietly, listening as Skywalker chattered away pleasantly. Mattran had remained silent the entire time, even though she had distinctly heard his voice as she approached the breakfast lounge. He seemed to be extremely focused on his coffee, just as stoic as Anakin was jolly. By her own part, she fought hard to not stare at him, as her musings from the night before felt as if they were written on her face for all the world to see, and one glance from General Mattran would have him understanding that she had waltzed with him in her dreams divested of the majority of her clothes. But the Rex Mattran in her dreams had been far less modestly behaved and the memory of the slumber induced kisses they had shared set a tingle in her middle that made her squirm uncomfortably.  
She jumped suddenly at the sound of her name. "I'm sorry sir; what did you say?"

Anakin chuckled at her momentary flight. "I said, Miss Di'Nabierri, how fares your lady sister this morning?"

Ahsoka had indeed had a "look in" on Padme, and the other girl was sleeping soundly still. Her fever had broke during the night and her color was even and healthy.  
"She is well, Lord… Anakin. Padme looks far more comfortable this morning, though she sleeps still. My compliments to your medic and his exceptional skills. Speaking of which, would I be able to send a messenger to my father, explaining the situation? I'm certain my parents worry for both of us."

"It's been done already!" barked the General, so suddenly, Ahsoka startled and slopped her tea. 

"Oh, bother… pardon me.." she dabbed away at the spill as Mattran flushed pink in the cheeks across the table. 

"Begging your pardon ma'am…" he mumbled, hiding his face in his coffee, "I took the liberty of sending riders at first light. Kix says she should rest another few days, or so, before setting off for home. And I sent a fine brandy to temper their anxiety if need be..."

Ahsoka regarded him with curiosity… the General seemed ill at ease this morning… positively grumpy… and yet the gesture was so thoughtful… likely the rider had seen Poppa and Mother already and set their minds to ease. "Thank you sir… muchly." She favored him with a genuine smile, truly appreciative. 

"Yes, lad! That's the spirit, well done!" cheered Skywalker, drawing a wince from his friend, whose blush was creeping up his ears.

"I was awake anyway… it seemed the sensible thing to do… and it gave the men an opportunity to patrol the main road to the other end of the valley… and there was necessity to explain the presence of two unattended unwed young ladies being kept at Never-failed..." he spat out, not sure why he was making excuses… and his own awkwardness was irritating him. 

Ahsoka turned her gaze back down at her tea, the flicker of warmth dying down as quickly as it had flared to life, at the General's curt words. Mercifully, heavy boot heels sounded at the door, and the handsome young medic strode to the table, bidding them all a good morning. 

"My Lord, I've come to tend to my patient and see how the night has treated her." Brazenly he snatched a biscuit from Rex's plate and busied himself at buttering it as Mattran glared dangerously at him. "Would my Lady please attend me? I'm sure your sister would appreciate the company." He smiled pleasantly, seemingly immune to the poisonous looks.

"It would be inappropriate if you didn't have a chaperone of sorts." muttered Mattran.

Kix rolled his eyes, taking a hearty bite of the treat. "You people and your "chaperones"... I mean to render medical attention, not cop a feel of her bits. Are you really so suspicious of your brethren?"

Ahsoka choked back a giggle, recalling that she had been ready to wring his neck the night before. "Yes, sir. I will gladly attend you." She excused herself and followed him to the stairs, the gentle tones of her polite conversation drifting back to the two men left behind.

Anakin sighed, shaking his head. "My… you cut a pretty pathetic figure there, Rex old boy. Could you have been any more unpleasant?"  
Mattran's forehead hit the table with a rattle of china and he gave a muffled groan.

"Fek my life."

"I'll say… that's the only thing you'll be "fekking" at this rate. Well, at least Kix gave you a few more days to ingratiate yourself to the lady. You'll have to thank him." Anakin set his chin on his palm, wondering when he had ever seen his friend so distraught. 

"That was a lie." Rex sighed, then shot up with a frenzied look. "I'm not looking to woo her, Anakin! A few days won't change that."

"Ah I wondered when you'd remember that you aren't the least bit interested in her company. You really are a hopeless case, Rex. Why are you in such a damn state of denial over her?" He crossed his arms and glared sternly at the General, demanding a straight answer. 

Rex reclined in his chair, letting his head fall to the padded back and staring up at the ceiling.  
"I…. I'm…"  
Leaning forward, he dropped his face in his hands.  
"She doesn't want the likes of me. I'm a miserable bastard who hasn't the faintest ability to treat a woman properly. I can't even have civilized conversation over a cup of coffee."

●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●●

She had shook Padme gently, rousing the girl from her deep sleep gently.Her sister had blinked awake, smiling broadly when she saw Ahsoka at her side. She did remember Kix, and spoke sweetly to him as he checked her for signs of lingering illness, pronouncing her still carrying a fever. Afterwards she sat stone still with a straight face as he cleaned and redressed her wound, praising her composure all the while and wishing his soldiers were as good of patients as she. Ahsoka was pleased to see how comfortable Padme reacted to being handled by the man, as her sister had a great shyness for strangers.

Kix left not long after the breakfast had arrived, to prepare medicinal tea for her pain. Ahsoka stayed for the duration to offer company and help, as Padme's stiff arm made dining difficult, and Ahsoka jumped at the chance to play at mothering by feeding the invalid. Once finished, she swept out with the tray, determined to return with books and entertaining things, but upon reaching the bedroom she heard Skywalker's pleasant voice drifting from within and realized she had been displaced by a more attractive companion.

With a smile and a shrug she retreated to her quarters to stash her findings and set out to thrill herself with a bit of exploring of the grand estate. She knew she had a few days here yet. She couldn't expect the gentlemen to entertain her the entire time and she was avoiding the cousins… best to find some fun on her own. 

The estate had been abandoned for a short while, but long enough for the gardens to run a bit wild. The groundsmen had only just started working to revitalize the spaces, so It was quite exciting to claw her way through archways choked with morning glory vines or discover the face of an overgrown statue. She had worked her way into a rather wild corner of the promenade and set down for a bit of quiet only to be startled by a deep shout, followed by the clashing of swords. Her first instinct was that bandits had entered the estate… and her foolish self had left her saber in the house… but the noises were interspersed with laughter, which had her dropping the stone she had grabbed for defense and tip toeing to a break in the hedgerow to investigate.

She beheld about half a hundred of the Fett soldiers practicing with their swords. All in various states of undress… some entirely shirtless… but, oh wasn't that a sight! Sooli would die when she told her about it. Another deep shout echoed and the men all moved forward in unison, displaying identical motions as their drill instructor called the steps. She sucked in a breath sharply. Leading them was General Mattran, in a similar state of casual dress with his shirt pulled open at the front, face set with concentration as he wielded his magnificent katana. 

Ahsoka had no idea how long she stood there, her eyes locked on the man with the intensity of a hound on a fox. She couldn't bear to miss a second of his practice; stowing away the graceful, powerful movements in the safest place in her brain as a greedy chipmunk does with his seeds, determined to save them for a cold lonely day. When the line drills had ended, the soldiers drifted into smaller groups, sparring with their live blades while their mates looked on. Mattran too engaged in the playful dueling, laughing and shouting good naturedly with his partners. She wouldn't have believed it if someone had told her; the way he grinned and heckled, it was if he was a totally different man.

"You're welcome to join us, ma'am… you needn't hide here in the bushes… we don't bite!" 

With a squeak she whirled around, coming face to face with the charming young medic, balancing many large stoneware jugs.

"Oh! Mr. Kix, you surprised me, sir!" She gasped, giggling at his sudden appearance. 

"My apologies, ma'am. I thought you'd heard me coming through the garden. I say… mightn't you be willing to carry one of these? My finger has lost its feeling…" He grimaced, gesturing with his chin to the offending jug, and she relieved him of the weight quickly.  
"Oh, that's a fine thing. Thank you, Miss Di'Nabierri! And please, no "mister" here. I'm simply Kix."

He stepped past her, shouldering his way through the hedge and she realized he really meant for her to come with him out into the lawn among the men. She flushed, feeling a little bit of an intruder, especially after having watched them so rudely. Would they be embarrassed at her presence?? She followed a few steps behind, lugging the heavy water jug in her arms. 

The other men hailed him, glad to see a cold drink on its way. Mattran turned to them with a dazzling smile on his face, and her heart sunk as she watched it melt away, to be replaced with the firm line she had become so familiar with. Why did he dislike her so?  
A soldier gladly took the jug from her, downing several gulps of the drink before passing it onto the next, and she watched from the corner of her eye as the somber General drank as well, a stray drop running down his chin before he dashed it away.

"Ma'am? Would you care for some water?" One of the men offered a jug, and she politely sipped, her eyes rounding with pleasure at the flavor. 

"Ginger?" She asked, taking a second sip.

"Aye!" Kix laughed at her. "Easier on a hot stomach; plain cold water will give a lad cramps if he's working too hard."

"Merciful Force… I wish I'd known that. I've made myself sick before on water when training in the heat." She smiled, passing the jug on. 

"You're a swordsman then, like your lady sister?" another soldier piped in.

"Yes; all of us sisters are. Marksmen as well. I can't help but admire your form, you all look very fit and capable." She smiled with genuine comfort. Mixing with these sort of men felt so natural… she wished her sisters were here.

"Miss Di'Nabierri is a competent, temple trained swordsman. You can assume her praise is genuine and practical." Mattran had come to stand by her group, his palm resting on the hilt of his blade. 

"Temple trained! I hear that is quite elegant! Would my Lady dance for us?" one lad asked cheerfully, before a cacophony of shouts joined:  
"Yes, what a sight that would be!"  
"Please do, Miss!"  
"Here, use my saber, Ma'am!"

Mattran was opening his mouth to protest, but she was hopping forward to grab the sword, dying to join in the fun. She was proud of her skills, and the pleasant, easy soldiers were growing on her. She could give them this much, at least in thanks for tending to Padme so sweetly. 

She minced away from the group for some paces and gracefully placed the sword on the ground. Pulling her sash free she hitched up her skirts above the knee and bound the folds tightly at the waist, much to the delight of the watching men. Rex stood, positively gnawing on his bottom lip, arms crossed stiffly over his chest. She retrieved the blade with a prim smile and sank into an elegant fighting stance, her arms posed like a dancer at the ready. 

Then she moved. 

Her master had taught her that sword arts came imbued with their own element of the natural world. The style of the Fetts made her think of the earth and stones - hard and sturdy, unwilling to retreat when pushed at. Mattran's beautiful movements resembled the wind - blowing softly through the branches and shaking loose petals, or raging like a ferocious storm. Her art was that of water, ebbing and flowing… in constant liquid motion. Arms and legs swirled and undulated, the blade moving in great sweeping arcs - the forms of the sea waves. She transitioned into the dance of the spring rains, light on her toes, leaping in the air to flutter her hands like little birds taking flight. Next was summer - raging thunderstorms made her saber lash out with furious jabs and the rivers flowed with a crashing power, her body snapping the sword in great figure eights and circles. Fall saw the slowing of the waters and she sank low to the grass, lashing at knees and ankles, some times planting a hand to add a booted heel to her sword strike. Winter - winter saw the flurry of snow as she drove forward, her sword wild, then the waters froze and she was postured as still as an ice sculpture, balancing on her single toe, before the flurry came again. She could feel her smile causing her cheeks to ache and she laughed as she obeyed her master's gentle voice in her mind. She loved the dance with all her heart, with every morsel of her being. She could never be parted from this. 

She heard the slice of the air before she saw it and her saber clashed against another, the merry golden eyes of a Fett just beyond it. He shouted and pressed his attack and she parried willingly, delighted at the man's engagement. Another tried his hand, teasing and feinting until she hooked his heel slyly, spilling him on his rump with a shout of triumph. Another lad attacked… and another… by the Maker, they were putting her through her paces just like any soldier! Her heart pounded at the exercise, mind excited at the new opponents (she knew her sisters like reading a favorite book) and she heaved away a soldier and turned towards the next singing blade.

It crashed down with more force than she expected, she braced her arms firmly and stopped its descent cold, and found herself staring in to the smoked honey shine of Mattran's gaze. He withdrew and relaxed, circling her quietly as she adjusted her footing. His face was still stern, though his eyes had a bit of a spark to them, and they narrowed as he raised his sword to strike again. She met him with force, allowing her waters to surge forth in a maelstrom, meeting his windy hurricane fearlessly. They raged back and forth, grunts of effort and clipped shouts echoing over the field as they clashed. She might have been afraid with the intensity of his attacks, but with each offense his face softened… and when she booted him squarely in the gut, he next faced her with a smirk, which soon evolved into a full on grin. Mattran was enjoying himself!

Damn him if it didn't make a distracting flutter in her navel and his next swipe unbalanced her a little bit. He surged forward ruthlessly, seeing the slightest of openings from her mistake. She parried furiously but he pressed her too hard and a wrenching twist had her saber flying from her grasp. Before she could blink he was flipping her over his hip and she crashed to the ground, rolling to escape, but she turned over to find the point of his sword hovering over her breast, and he was crouched low over her head, ready to strike a death blow.

"Touche', Miss Di'Nabierri." His voice was low, breaths quickened by the exertion. 

"Are you certain, General?" She flicked her eyes up to his groin. 

He followed her gaze to see a cunning little blade poised between his thigh and his nethers, her hands ready to open the great vein there. He raised an eyebrow, his face seeming appreciative of the defense, albeit a tiny bit nervous. "Dare I move, ma'am?"

"By jove, it's a draw!! I never!" Shouted the captain, and the others whooped in excitement at the show.

Ahsoka lowered the knife and Mattran straightened before offering a hand to her, pulling her to her feet. She shouldn't have enjoyed that simple touch as much as she did, but it was easy and unthinking on the General's part, as if he had forgotten his discomfort for the moment. She smiled saucily at him, and he reacted in kind, before she saw heat creep into his face and he turned away.


End file.
